Long Live The King
by Laerkstrein
Summary: It has been five years since the Chitauri invasion conquered Manhattan, and the madness has since spread across the globe, causing a drastic shift in society. The Avengers, now widely viewed as a terrorist cell, are seen as but the enemy to Midgard's king, and the team must fight to restore balance to the planet and take down the glorified God of Mischief.
1. All That We Once Were

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Long Live The King**

**Chapter 1: **All That We Once Were

**A/N: **For those of you who have not been following "Like Pulling Teeth" and "Total Paranoia," this story was created from an idea I have wanted to explore over the past several months: Loki, King of Midgard. As such, this will be set following the film much like my other two stories, though in a universe all by itself wherein the Chitauri invasion came to fruition, and the Avengers failed.

So, if there are any newcomers here, welcome. Here's hoping you'll enjoy my musings. If you are returning readers from my previous works, welcome back. Good to have you with us again. But, one way or the other, thank you for opening this up. I greatly appreciate it.

The next chapter should be up fairly soon. Then again, I could be wrong. My perception of time seems to differ greatly from that of other people.

The recommended tune for this chapter is "Open Up Your Eyes" by Daughtry.

* * *

The grounds were once filled with lush, green grass, she remembered, and allowed herself that moment of anger amid the sorrow. There were trees, all standing tall and shading the pristine white stones from the sun, allowing only the smallest rays of light to shine through upon the carved names and dates. But those days were no longer, she recalled with a muted curse, reminding herself that the earth upon which she stood was naught but an empty plot of land now, devoid of life and filled only with the lingering stench of death.

It was a grey, barren, bit of earth now, lacking the respect that should have been given to the dead. And there were now three who lay somewhere beneath her feet, never to be acknowledged for that which they had sacrificed save it be within their weakening little group.

Not a one of them uttered a word; the only sound that of shuddering breaths. She allowed herself a peek at the rest of them, noting with a pang in her chest the way they all stared at the patch of dirt that had, once again, claimed one of their own.

The Starks, she noted, tucking a lock of red hair behind one ear, stood in a singular line, all holding to one another's hands with the most devastated of expressions. Tony, the man who had been easily pegged as the joker of their motley crew, held his head high, staring out into the distance towards the city, lower lip pulled into his mouth and held in place by his teeth. The poor guy, she though, was willing himself to maintain that facade.

Beside him, a boy, dressed to the nines in a suit matching that of his father, his tie slightly askew and a bit wet on the end from where he had set to chewing on it. His face was fair, his hair a warm auburn that, with the lack of sunlight on this grey day, appeared to be far less lively than usual. He spared his father a glance and tugged on his arm before pulling away from his mother, throwing his little arms right around Tony's leg, burying his face in the slate gray fabric of his father's slacks.

Pepper was red in the face, decorated with tears, the child in her arms cooing gently as she was bounced. Their second, Natasha thought fondly, was little more than five months old. Still so small and innocent and unaware of all the hell that existed around her. A blessing and a curse, she acknowledged, to be so utterly oblivious and yet doomed to potentially grow up in a world that could only grow darker by the day.

On her right stood the uncanny couple, the god with golden locks holding fast to the woman who trembled against his arm. He looked about ready to break into pieces of fine china, and it ate at Natasha's heart to know how close to home each of these blows had hit him. The God of Thunder, a man who appeared to be the embodiment of the beasts that stalked the savanna, had been all but reduced to a quivering little kitten, and the thought made her heart bleed black with anger.

She hated that bastard even more.

Poor Maria, she sighed, casting the woman a glance, must have been in terrible shape as well, having watched not only one, but two, of her companions taken by the scourge that threatened to snuff them all out. First Coulson aboard the helicarrier, and then Fury, wholly devoured by flame within his own residence. It would be a difficult call, but Natasha was willing to bet that she hated that monster with an intensity that outmatched her own.

Peering about, she curled her fingers into fists, bit down hard upon her lower lip and shook her head. This was all that was left of them, she grimaced. The last of the Avengers.

First Coulson, then Steve, Fury, and now...

She didn't want to think about him, didn't want to see his face in her mind and know that he was never coming back; that they would never again stand beside one another and butt heads or simply take down that which they had been assigned. She would never again have the pleasure of peering across the expanse of their darkened living room, watching as he sat idly on the couch, fast asleep.

Bruce, too, had since separated from the group, gone off to find someplace where he could isolate himself from the world, and, for a time, Natasha had considered going her own way as well, knowing that they would all inevitably perish whether or not they remained together.

_Bastard,_ she thought, and glowered at the tower that stood high in the distance.

How she hated him, wished that there would come a time where she could deliver unto him the same hell that he had cast upon the lot of them.

The sky began to roar then, and her companions bowed their heads as Tony sighed, sucked in a breath and stepped forward to kneel in the dirt.

He brought a hand to his lips and promptly laid it upon the fresh mound before taking to his feet again. He turned to face them, his jaw still quivering slightly as Bradley rushed forward to be pulled up and into his father's arms.

"It's never easy," he said, and his voice began to crack, "to look back and say, 'What the hell could I have done?' That's a question that we'll never have the answer to. But if there's one thing... _one damn thing_ we can do... it's to go down swinging. If not for ourselves, for this broken family of ours... Then for the people we've loved and lost. The people who have fallen prey to all this... _madness..._"

Each of them nodded, murmuring their quiet agreement with the words before moving slowly towards the individual vehicles that stood parked a scant thirty feet away.

But Natasha remained, ignored the sounds of engines roaring to life as she dropped to her knees, laid her own hand against the mound of dirt and grimaced.

"Never," she said quietly. "I will never forgive him for this. Just you watch." Her fingers curled into the soft earth. "I'll make that bastard pay for what he's done. Not just to you. To all of us."

The assassin sighed, bowed her head as she stood upright again, eyes squeezed shut as she allowed her feet to carry her away.

"I'm so sorry... Goodbye, Clint."


	2. Welcome To The New Age

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 2: **Welcome To The New Age

**A/N: **The feedback on Tony and Pepper's son from "Total Paranoia" was so positive, I decided to recycle him into this as well.

Now that "Total Paranoia" is only a chapter from completion, "Long Live The King" will be receiving updates more frequently.

The recommended tune for this chapter is "So Cold" by Breaking Benjamin.

* * *

There was no peace. It just didn't exist anymore, plain and simple. Not for them, at least.

SHIELD had all but dissipated in the months before with Fury's demise, and the organization, as well as the foundations of the old government, had collapsed under the weight of this newfound hell. They had since gone underground, the Avengers and what little remained of SHIELD, hiding out in what most described as being the "underworld," always on the run.

More than once they had been chased from one point on the globe to another, always peering over their shoulders, imagining that those leering eyes were perpetually watching them. The God of Thunder, on the other hand, knew better.

They were broken, both as a team and as a people, but they were only toys to him, seen as little more than assassins by the now altered society, the citizens of nearly every city crying out for them to submit to the new world order. But, of course, that could only last so long as Loki could keep himself in check; keep himself from slaughtering those who had the audacity to defy him. Those that reminded him the the Avengers that he so evidently still feared.

Why else would he have his Chitauri minions hiding among the people at all hours of the day, seeking them out? What other reason would he have to kill off their friends, make them suffer?

Thor frowned, grit his teeth and slipped down the darkened steps, pulling the grate back down over them as he went. The lock was securely fastened, before he headed the rest of the way down the tunnel, a dim orange light greeting the god as he turned down the corridor and hurried through the now exposed door in the wall. As it closed behind him, Thor could hear the swift whir of the concrete covering sliding back down to meet with the pavement to hide what most of them now called "home."

In the wide living room, which had been modeled by Tony to appear like a penthouse apartment for their benefit and comfort, they all sat in silence, not a one of them daring to spare Thor a glance as he, too, took a seat at the counter and reached for a glass of water.

On the long, black sofa, Jane and Pepper sat together, their faces flushed as Gwendolyn lay in her mother's lap, cooing quietly as her light baby hair was stroked with a hand. Tony, having seated himself far from the rest of them, looked nothing short of miserable with the sunglasses thrown over his red eyes, Bradley fast asleep against his shoulder.

"Where is–"

"Maria's asleep," Natasha told him, staring at him from her seat upon the counter top. She, too, looked as though she needed a good, long rest. Or a drink. "We're all here, Thor." Her gaze fell. "There's nothing to worry about."

His scowl deepened, knowing that not a word of that was true. They had everything to worry about, and at all times of the day. Whether in the early hours of the morning, or the darkness of the night, they could not count on anyone but each other to ensure their collective safety.

"We should do something," he mistakenly muttered aloud, words which quickly sent Tony, with his son in hand, hurrying off towards the child's bedroom to lay him down to sleep. "We _have_ to do something..."

Natasha spat, drawing his attention. "You sound like Steve," she snapped. "We don't have to do anything. _We can't do anything._ You know that."

Thor stood then, drawing a breath through his nose as he watched her. Though the assassin did not say so with her words, it was as plain as the graves of the dead that she blamed him. He could see it in her eyes. How fervently she believed that, if he had not come to Earth, Loki would not have followed. If he had not sworn his life to Jane, he would not have had reason with which to return. If he had possessed the heart needed to kill his liar brother, Manhattan would not have been assaulted, the world would not have been conquered, and their friends would not have given their lives in vain.

While she hated his brother for all the things he had done, Thor could see that she had easily allowed herself to come to hate him, too.

"So, this is it?" Thor gestured to the walls around them, the false cityscape staring back at them through projected windows. "We remain here, trapped as vermin, forever on the run?"

"We can't fight, you fool!" Her face became flushed, eyes glazed and angry. "How many have we lost because we chose to fight?! Coulson, Fury, Steve... Bruce _abandoned_ us... And now Clint's gone, too!" She shook her head at him. "How many more have to die before you can fully digest just what it is that bastard's done to us?!"

Thor looked away.

"She's right, Sparky," Tony almost whispered as he came back down the hall. "He's killed enough people as it is. The people who stand by us, try to help us, try to reason with a vengeful god... We can't run the risk of losing more lives to this madness... It's impossible."

He took a step forward. "But you are all about the impossible, are you not? You have cheated death far more than any mortal man should have been able, and with each consecutive victory, you have bettered yourself; your world."

Tony shrugged and pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket. "Yeah, if you can call failing to halt an invasion 'bettering the world.'"

Thor sighed, looked at each member of their shabby little group, and swallowed. Even Jane held a lackluster gleam in her eye.

"What has happened to you?" The god shook his head. "When I first came to this planet, the last thing I expected was to find a group of warriors capable enough to go head-to-head with any other power of the Nine Realms, let alone my people. But _you did._" He set to pacing. "We may have lost the battle, but that does not mean we have lost the war! We can pull through this! We can stop Loki; reason with him! We can–"

"Yeah?" Natasha snarled, tossing a dishtowel at him. "Well, why don't you go 'reason' with your bastard brother, then? Let me know how that goes."

Her boots hit the floor with a thud, the echo reaching down the hall as the woman retreated to her room without another word.

He looked to Jane. "We can," he said, and sounded as though he were begging her to agree. "We can end this. Together."

She sighed, picking herself up off the couch and crossing the room. Her hand touched his.

"It's a nice thought," she said, and started to drift away. "But that's all it is, Thor. It's just a dream..."

Thor sighed and hung his head in silence. They _could_ do it. He knew they could. It was just a matter of convincing them as to when and how.

But, for now, he didn't know what more to say.


	3. This Is Our Reality

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 3: **This Is Our Reality

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Afterdark" by Blaqk Audio.

* * *

He had to get the hell out of the rat trap, had to be on his own for a while, clear his head and hear himself think without the possibility of an infant or toddler crying for his attention. As soon as Jarvis had alerted him that morning had come, he had slipped away in disguise, appearing as little more than a man on the brink of losing what very little he owned.

An accurate summation, Tony thought grimly, considering how his funds, save that which he had stashed away in hard cash, were no longer accessible.

With the tattered fishing cap pulled down over his face, he scratched his chin, detesting the fact that he had to hide his appearance just to go out in public. He grimaced, slipping through the door of a nearby corner store, idling down each of the aisles for only a few seconds before deciding that, besides that which sat behind the counter, he didn't really need anything else.

"Pall Mall," he said, gesturing to the cigarettes behind the cashier.

The boy gave him a funny look as he half-turned to reach for them. "How many?"

Tony shrugged, reaching into his brown jacket for a few bills. "Hell, son, give me six." He sighed, glancing out the window. "God knows I'm gonna need 'em..."

The packs hit the counter with a soft sound, the beeping of the scanner ringing in Tony's ears as he abruptly spaced out and set to humming to himself.

It was an old song, its precise time of origin still unknown. A popular tune that would have been sung by men aboard ships at sea, eventually making its way through the years as a sort of children's lullaby. His father, if he remembered correctly, had actually deigned to sing it to him once or twice as a boy, though only as a means with which to distract Tony enough to get him out of the office and away from the Stark Empire.

He wore a half-smile on his face, swaying back and forth as the words went on within his head, snapping to attention only when the bag full of cigarettes was shoved into his chest.

"Sir," the cashier said with irritation in his tone, "you're holding up the line." He pointed to the display that presented the amount due. "Your total is–"

Tony dropped four twenties on the counter and headed for the door. "Don't worry about the change, kid. Keep it, and maybe get yourself a nice haircut."

Out on the street again, he tore into one of the packs, slipping a cigarette between his lips before shoving the rest of them into his jacket pocket and lighting up. He breathed deeply, knowing damn well that, if the so-called king's little spies didn't kill him first, the nicotine would. That got Tony to thinking, wondering if it would be better to die an innocent man, fighting for his life, or some nameless black lung on the side of the Hudson.

It didn't really matter one way or another, he thought, carrying on with no set destination in mind. Then again, it did. He had kids now, a little boy who looked to be the spitting image of his father, and a happy baby girl, every bit as sweet and lovely as her mother. It _did _matter. He couldn't throw his life away, pretend as though he had nothing to lose when there were two precious little souls, and a beautiful woman, relying on him for comfort, for help, for knowledge.

Taking another drag on the smoke, Tony stepped off the curb and into the crosswalk, visibly jumping when a taxi nearly took out his knees.

"Hey!" The driver leaned out the window, looking as though he hadn't bathed in weeks with that dirty red facial hair. "Get the hell out of the way, you crazy bastard! Don't you see the damn sign?! I got a green light here!"

Tony made a face, leaving the cigarette between his lips as he raised a hand and threw the finger at the man. "There's a speed limit, too, Yosemite Sam. So why don't you just–"

The vehicle lurched forward a few inches, catching Tony off guard as he stumbled back towards the intersection.

_"Outta the way!"_

Biting down on the cigarette, Tony raised a foot and stepped up onto the hood of the cab, leaning against the windshield and giving it a solid smack with his fist.

"You wanna go, Sam? Come on!" He struck the window again, and the driver flinched. "Get out of the damn car! I'll kick your ass from here to Wall!"

The horn of the cab blared long and loud as Tony suddenly felt a hand reach up and grab him by the arm, yanking him off the hood and onto the ground.

He blinked behind his glasses, stunned to see a blond man in a dark suit lean through the driver's window. A few quiet words passed between the two before the man withdrew a wallet from his jacket, slipping some crisp bills into the red-faced driver's hand, and stepping away from the vehicle. He looked to Tony, a thin smile on his face as he took him by the arm and pulled him back onto the sidewalk, watching as the taxi sped away.

Tony could only stare, as he was led, still stunned, down the street a few blocks and through the door of a coffee shop, promptly instructed to take a seat at one of the corner tables. Not knowing what would befall him if he didn't, he simply nodded, taking a seat and still biting down on the cigarette, staring at the table until the man returned with two piping cups of coffee.

"Is black all right?" the man asked with a raised brow.

He had one hell of an accent.

A nod. "Yeah," Tony said, pegging the man as German and taking the now dead smoke out of his mouth. "Yeah, black's just fine."

The sunglasses came away from his eyes, which were now visibly narrowed as his mind worked to determine just who this fellow was and what he could have wanted with a man who had openly picked a fight with a taxi driver in the middle of the street.

"All right, you gotta understand that this is eating my damn lunch," Tony breathed, slapping a hand on the table. "Who the hell are you?"

The coffee cup touched down with a quiet sound, the man lifting a napkin to his mouth as he coughed. "I'm sorry," he wheezed. "I forgot to introduce myself. Christoph Hirsch, of the CIA."

Tony leaned forward with a smirk. "Really? The CIA?"

"Yes."

He scoffed. "God... Look, if you're going to come up with a story, at least make it believable. Not some... shit out of a spy movie, all right?"

The man looked quizzical. "You don't believe me?"

"Hell no, I don't believe you. Why the hell would I believe you?!"

"Please, keep your voice down, Mr. Stark. We wouldn't want to make a scene."

The Iron Man froze. "My name's not Stark," he said, a little to quickly. "It's Lopez. Daniel Lopez."

Hirsch smiled and withdrew something from his pocket, sliding it across the table beneath a clean napkin. "Of course, it is."

Lifting the corner, Tony's eyes widened at the sight of the badge, sliding the thing back towards the apparent agent. He leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms, and grimaced.

"You could be faking it."

"Oh, please, Mr. Stark. I'll have you know it's very difficult to forge Federal credentials."

"You're very obviously German. I didn't think foreigners could enter into American Federal agencies." A shrug. "Then again, I never did pay very much attention to the goings-on of the government. Bunch of stuck up asswipes, regardless of political affiliation. Always after my damn money for their campaigns, too."

Hirsh took another drink and smiled. "German father, Austrian mother, born in Maryland, raised primarily in Berlin. Satisfied, Mr. Stark?"

Tony tapped his fingers on the table and bit the inside of his cheek. "I guess that checks out. For now." He made a mental note to have Jarvis scan all databases for this fellow just to be safe. "So, what does the CIA want with me?"

"We can help you."

"Yeah, I really doubt that."

"We can get the Avengers Initiative back up and rolling for you. Pick up where Nick Fury, unfortunately, left off."

What in the living hell would make this man think that he could restore SHIELD's procedures, restore the balance, make the Avengers appear as a team of heroes again rather than a deadly group of terrorists? It was impossible with Loki running the show, playing god and king, twisting the norms of modern society to suit him and his needs. They'd be found out, put in danger again. And Tony couldn't chance letting Pepper or the kids get hurt.

"Give us a chance, Mr. Stark. We'll keep the procedure off the books, underground. We'll get things back to the way they were."

The Iron Man shook his head, fitting the glasses back over his eyes as he lit up another cigarette.

"Well, when you put it like that... _No._"

The half-full coffee cup tumbled to the floor as Tony stood, Hirsch following swiftly at his heels.

"No?" he repeated, sounding stunned. "B-But we can make this work! If you'd just reconsider..."

"Look," Tony snapped, grabbing the man by the collar. "I don't know how long you've been tailing me, or who put you up to this. Hell, with the way things are now, I don't even know if you're really who you claim to be. But I am _not_ going to put _my family_ in danger just so you government jackasses can feel good about saving the goddamn world!"

Hirsch was shoved backwards as the Iron Man stormed out of the shop and started running, bumping into many a passerby as he rushed down the sidewalk, ignoring the vulgar curses that followed him.

It was a pipe dream, overthrowing a vengeful god, restoring the peace, protecting the innocent. It had been a good show while it had lasted, but they were off the air, trapped in a perpetual retirement, waiting out each and every day, hoping it would not be their last. And that was all there was to it.

Nothing anyone said, not Hirsch or Thor or anyone else foolish enough to go up against this menace, was going to make a difference, he thought, peering through the looming buildings towards the Tower. This was their reality now.

The Avengers were through fighting, and there was no hope for the planet.

* * *

The song Tony sings is the old sea shanty, "The Drunken Sailor."


	4. The Devil Never Sleeps

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 4: **The Devil Never Sleeps

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "My Body Is A Cage" by Peter Gabriel.

* * *

Her presence was comforting, her skin warm to the touch, her fresh scent lingering in the sheets as she shifted closer. For the life of him, he couldn't see what color her eyes were, couldn't remember. One moment, they were as startling emeralds, and the next they were as deep and blue as the sea off the coastline. But one way or another, she was here, his. And she was beautiful.

He traced the hollow of her throat with a hand, drew breath to question just how long they'd been kept apart. But she leaned in, silencing him with her kiss, her fingers tearing through his hair as he struggled to breathe, to take in her essence. This woman was everything a man could have ever dreamed of, everything he could have conjured within the boundless spaces in his mind. Beautiful. Absolute. Perfect.

Between his fingers came the long, dark lengths of her hair as it fell over him in a curtain.

The sheet was swept away, pulled like a gown over her shoulders as she swept across the room, tugging the fabric tighter about herself so as to tease. Biting back a smirk, he stared at her with longing in his gaze, sat upright and offered his hand. She would come. She always had.

She smiled in turn, sashayed about the room once more, and turned back on her heel to return to the bedside. Their fingers met, his facade finally crumbling and giving way to that grin. But she froze, expression blank rather than warm and welcoming as it had been before, and, for what must have been the millionth time amid these scant few years, she vanished from his side as but ash in the wind.

Another dream, he thought, and scowled, cutting into the flesh of his palm with his nails. He spat, swinging both legs over the side of the bed as he dressed, the clothing materializing with but the blink of an eye.

She was gone, had been since he had first departed Asgard, and she would, unfortunately, remain such. A vision in his mind's eye, a tormentor. Kept from him by the bastard king Odin, forever out of reach.

He was always cut off from them, always had been. They had never belonged to him; not a one. Not the gilded palace halls, not the golden gleam of the royal city, not even his mother. And now _she_ had been kept from him, too.

Loki grit his teeth, leaned into the glass of the window, its surface cool to the touch. A barrier, temporary, separating him from _his_city, _his_ Midgard. The still lasting feeling of his triumph was bittersweet, the knowledge of that impending threat still looming.

This was still a war. They were still hiding, unwittingly waiting for the moment in which they could overthrow him, return their vile little society to its continually degrading state. But it was not so much the Avengers he feared as it was the sun. The very same threat that had followed Loki from his earliest days, now presenting itself in sporadic bouts of extreme paranoia.

Thor. He couldn't hide forever. He'd grow restless sooner than later, allow his patience to wane, that temper to get the better of him. And, when he did, the mighty God of Thunder would be begging on his knees, be it for death or mercy.

Loki smirked. The trickster could outlast his so-called brother, would put him down like a weary dog. And he would enjoy every damned minute of it.

**# - # - # - #**

There was never anything on television anymore. Just trashy fashion programs, singing dolls for children, dangerous stunts, and a million other things Natasha could not bring herself to care about. Why Tony had opted to install the damn thing into their living space was still a mystery. It wasn't as though he could invite Rhodey over for drinks and horror films anymore. Not with the man's dearest friend being tied down to his duties to the throne.

That is, being a soldier dedicated to upholding the so-called "law."

What a joke, she thought, and changed the channel again, finally tossing the remote off to the side as it landed on the news station. The assassin shook her head and lay down on the couch, closing her eyes as she tried to push out the sound of the news anchor on the screen. With the way things were, why in the world did these people think it was perfectly normal to go about discussing petty thefts and the increase in gas prices? They should have been protesting this madness.

But that was the thing. To everyday citizens, this was the norm. Even those who had lived through the same hell that the Avengers had had come to accept it, refuse to fight it. Not a wonder, really. Many had stood against him, swearing that they would have nothing to do with the "new world order;" that things needed to return to the way they had been; that a monster had no business playing God and king. And they had died. Quite brutally, she recalled, the images flashing through her mind. They had probably been tortured by the Chitauri minions before their public execution, and Natasha could still not shake the memory of his face on the screen as he stood atop Stark Tower, wearing that damned smile as though bringing innocent lambs to the slaughter was no different than turning the pages of a book.

It made her sick.

She opened her eyes, stared blankly at the television a moment and sat straight up, in sudden disbelief.

"Hey!" Natasha shouted, and ran to the hallway. "Hey, get out here! You guys need to see this!"

The sound of his voice made her want to lean over the couch and retch.

"Many of you defend them," he said, as the others began to trickle into the room, "when they can do nothing for you. They fought for this people, would have even died for you. _Once_ What good are they to you now, hiding in the dark, refusing to show their faces to the world they so claim to love?" From behind, Natasha could feel Thor's heart stop dead in his chest. "The battle is lost to your Avengers, but they do not seek to win the war? Disbelief has grown in the hearts of man, yet they make no move to dispel it."

Natasha grimaced, dug her nails into the cushions of the couch. This was a trick, a means to lure them out into the open, to taunt them.

"The Avengers have become nothing more than fiction; an empty shadow lingering in the distant memory of mankind." A smirk. "Let us see if they can disprove that fact. Seven days. If the Avengers can prove themselves the heroes this planet supposedly deserves, I will grant them what they desire." And then a leering smile. "Oh, and... No cheating, Brother..."

The screen grew dark as Natasha tore the plug from the outlet, slamming the toe of her boot hard against the wall.

"Does he really think this is a game?!" She could feel her eyes glaze over, hear her heart pound heavily against her ribs. "He leads an invasion against the planet, forces us to go on the run for years, kills our friends, and then has the nerve to use us for his own amusement?!"

The room was silent save for the light sound of startled breathing. Tony finally sighed, shook his head and turned back to return to his and Pepper's room, the door slamming from down the hall.

"Unbelievable..." Thor murmured, and the assassin felt the fire rising.

"Is it?" she snapped, glowering at him. "Is it really, Thor? Is it really so shocking to you that your bastard brother would pull something so low as this out of his sleeve? Is it so surprising to you that he would stab you in the back yet again?!" Natasha kicked the wall again. "Why didn't you kill him when you had the chance?! You could have ended all of this years ago! Why didn't you?!"

The god leveled his eyes at her, a stern look on his usually calm and loving face.

"I am no assassin," he said firmly, and Natasha felt a pang in her chest. "Though he has done horrid things, I do love my brother, and I will not give myself over to anger as you have. I will not kill him unless that is what the peace strictly demands." Thor sighed. "The very same way Barton spared your life all that time ago."

The woman flinched, and shook her head, throwing herself back onto the couch in a huff.

"That's different," she muttered bitterly, and refused to look the god in the eye again. "I'm nothing like that monster." Natasha bit her lip. "I'm nothing like him..."


	5. Heroes And Villains

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 5: **Heroes And Villains

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Someday" by Nickelback.

* * *

With the door locked behind him, his hand lay flat against the wall, the blue light within the unseen panel wiping its way across the skin of his palm, the door rising up into the ceiling to allow him passage down the dark corridor. Tony was no fool. Upon building the structure for the group to hide out in, he had correctly anticipated that, with the proper motivation, they would find themselves out in the field again, forced to combat that which had torn them down during their first mission as the Avengers. That alone, he had allowed himself to believe, was reason enough to not pursue the operation any longer; to allow the Avengers Initiative to die out with Nick Fury, with SHIELD.

In the dark, he leaned forward against a second barrier, straight into a retina scanner that beeped with approval, a pair of doors sliding apart to open up into a room that Tony had not seen in quite some time. He had first constructed it within his Malibu home, deep beneath the workshop so that Pepper, who couldn't help worrying about him and all his antics, wouldn't have to fret as she went to sleep at night. Sure enough, he had lied to her, keeping various models of the suits holed up in secret storage, but it looked as though this were one lie that would end up paying off.

Tony stepped onto the platform in the center of the room as he began to descend, the arc reactors in each of the suits lighting up as he went. With each model he passed, the man found himself shaking his head, eventually coming upon the final suit which was met with a nod and smile of approval.

"All right," he said to himself, drawing a deep breath. "Let's see if this puppy's still got some kick to it."

He slipped into the suit, the feeling of the metal closing around his body suddenly becoming familiar again, the display lighting up inside the helmet as Jarvis was brought back online.

"Hey." Tony rapped on the side of the helmet. "Jarvis, you there?"

"Good to hear your voice again, sir," came the reply. "How have things been faring?"

The billionaire snorted. "For God's sake, Jarvis, don't play that game with me. We both know damn well that you've been keeping an eye on things around here. You just don't say anything."

"And what would make you think that, sir?"

"I programmed you, didn't I? I know how you operate; I know how you think. So don't insult me by–"

"Daddy?"

Tony's eyes widened and looked up just as Bradley peered down into the suit storage. "Oh, shit."

"Daddy?" His son's voice began to waver, and Tony knew the waterworks were about the start flowing. "Daddy? Daddy, where are you?" A whimper. "I'm _scared._"

With a groan, Tony started up the thrusters and rose up to the lip of the container, leaning against it as though it were just the side of a swimming pool. As he did, Bradley's eyes about popped out of his head and he fell backwards onto his butt, mouth open in a distinct "o" shape.

"Iron Man?!" he exclaimed excitedly, the fear abruptly vanishing. "Iron Man, you're here! Are you gonna save us from the bad guys?!"

"Yeah, Brad," Tony said, smiling as he pulled off the helmet. "Iron Man's gonna save you."

The boy's look of excitement changed to that of absolute bliss and admiration, his eyes lighting up like a million twinkling little lights on Christmas Eve. "Daddy, are _you_ Iron Man?!"

"Yeah, bud. Daddy's Iron Man."

He felt a little guilty letting those words slide out of his mouth. For as long as his son had been old enough to understand what heroes and villains were, he had never once said a word about having developed the suit, about having stopped men like Obadiah and Ivan Vanko from creating chaos. There had never been a time, and he had never wanted to get his boy's hopes up. All Tony had ever said when he had broached the subject, was that Iron Man had been a hero like Captain America. A good man who had used his talents to save and protect the people who needed him.

Bradley rushed about the room several times, squealing about how cool it would be to see his father fight the bad guys on television just like in the stories he had been told. That made Tony feel a bit guilty even though his son wouldn't understand for several more years that his father had lied to him. But it had been to protect him, to keep him from becoming obsessed with the idea that there were always heroes. The thing was, there weren't. Heroes didn't always exist in the world. They grew old, they were killed, they even chose to abuse their power. And, sometimes, they just opted to stand back and throw in the towel. Just like him.

"Daddy?" Bradley was on his knees, looking Tony right in the eye. "If you're Iron Man, does that mean bad stuff's happening? Does that mean there's bad guys out there?"

Tony smiled sadly and placed the helmet on his son's head and as he pulled him into his arms. "Yeah, son. There's a really bad guy out there doing awful things to people. And Daddy's gonna try to stop him. Daddy's gonna try to make the world okay for you and Gwen to grow up in."

"Like Captain America, Daddy? You gonna be a hero like Captain America?"

He bowed his head, squeezed the boy tight in his arms. By God, it shouldn't have been Steve who had been taken away. Not with that damned sense of justice and his obnoxious attitude. He'd lived far longer than he should have, and for what? To be murdered at the hands of a bastard god? A monster? But he'd done a hell of a lot of good with the extra time he'd been given. He'd really jumped on board and taken up the leadership role once they'd been unable to get in contact with SHIELD; had decided that it would be in everyone's best interest if they created a hideout for themselves; a place that couldn't be detected above except by those who knew where and how to find it.

And still, with all the good he had done, he had been killed.

"Why, Daddy? Why does he gotta do bad things? Isn't he happy?"

Tony shrugged. "I don't know, bud. But people sometimes go and do bad things to other people because... because they don't know how to do anything else. And I... Daddy doesn't know if he's happy or not."

Bradley made a face, his little mouth turned upside-down in a pouting frown as he pulled off the helmet. "That's so sad, Daddy," he said, and sniffled. His little arms wrapped themselves about Tony's neck. "Everyone should get to be happy _all_ the time..."

Tony nodded in agreement and dropped to the floor, falling on his knees as he held his boy tighter. "I know, son," he said. "I know. But Daddy's gonna make everything better, okay? Daddy's gonna make sure people get to be happy again." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I swear to God, I will..."

* * *

I've had conversations with my younger cousins and my friends' kids before, and trying to explain to them why people do horrible things to one another is like trying to build a rocket ship out of cake. A lot of the time, they're just not old enough to fully comprehend how the world works and why people hide behind excuses so that they can do as they please. It breaks my heart, because they're just so innocent, and they don't deserve to grow up in a world that will eventually begin to fill them with a lot of the terrible knowledge that we retain by the time we're adults.

Hopefully, I've portrayed that innocence well. It's so important for me, as both a writer and a person, to understand and remember just what it means to think as simply and innocently as a child would.


	6. Tied By Blood

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 6: **Tied By Blood

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Down Inside Of You" by Fuel.

* * *

His hair, held back by one of Jane's rubber ties, was half hidden behind the bandanna that decorated his head, the knot on the back increasingly uncomfortable the longer he thought on it. Thor bit the inside of his cheek, scowling as he moved a hand back to remove the patterned piece of cloth. He stopped himself at the last moment, Natasha's words echoing in his head.

_"Do not make a scene. One slip up, and you could kill us all."_

The god nodded, pushing his sunglasses up with a knuckle, bringing the bottle of water held within the pocket of his leather jacket to his lips. Jane had decided on the disguise, he thought with the faintest of smiles, insisting that, if he needed to get out in the open so badly, he had best go out dressed in a manner that reflected his appearance rather than betrayed it. As Tony had gone to a great deal of trouble to acquire a vast collection of clothes for the lot of them at the start of this mayhem, there had been quite a bit of time spent sitting on the bed, waiting for Jane to settle on something that she had deemed appropriate. And, if she had disapproved of an outfit after he tried it on, Thor would be left to sit quietly in his boxers until the woman presented him with a new possibility.

Though he loved her, the very idea that she was so incredibly indecisive somehow reminded him of his brother, who, for the life of him, would not have put up with anyone questioning his decisions, even in his younger days. As such, he had butt heads with Odin on many an occasion and over anything, ranging anywhere from short, week-long hunting trips to how Loki would conduct himself during one of the kingdom's lavish celebrations.

Needless to say, those so-called "conversations" had not ever gone over very well.

Thor sighed, stopping halfway down the block to take a seat at the nearby bus stop. They had been a family. Once. Albeit through the decisions of another; related, unknowingly, by their father's choice rather than by blood. A fact which, for the better part of a millennium, had not mattered. But, as the saying went, the truth had hurt, had ruined everything that they had known for the entirety of their lives; gone and damaged that which they had both called "home." Asgard, he had come to find during his very scarce visits, did not hold the same shine that it had once upon a time. But, due to recent circumstances, Thor had not had the chance to visit home in a good many months. He had no idea how his father and mother were faring, and it worried him deeply.

It was quite certain that Odin knew of the things that had transpired upon Midgard; of Loki's invasion, his success, his chaotic rule. But, as Thor stared out across the masses of people that streamed on past, it appeared as though not a one of them were aware of that fact. Or, perhaps they had just grown accustomed to the change, though it was a rather odd thought.

Mortals, he had learned, prided themselves on speaking their minds; on making their opinions known. So it seemed strange to him that the people of this city would have gone on about their lives in silence. Unless, of course, the vast majority of them did not care so long as their daily routines were not interrupted.

And that, Thor realized, frightened him.

He drew a breath, his brows meeting atop his nose as he shut his eyes but a moment before returning to his feet and resuming his brisk pace about the city.

Children could be heard darting about and screaming as he neared the neighborhood park, the collection of little humans rushing across the playground, all clad in brightly colored parkas and rain boots as they splashed about in wide puddles. Atop the jungle gym, one boy cried out, hands coming up to his eyes to form a pair of binoculars as he stared down at the water, saying that the tides were rising and that the sharks would soon be upon them. Squealing, the other children hopped up onto the structure, a stray few remaining in the water to circle about, hands held as fins atop their heads.

Without meaning to, the god seated himself on an empty bench and leaned forward on his knees, a half smile gracing his features as he watched the children play.

In all honesty, he could not help but pity them. Forced, like young Bradley, to grow up in a world that no longer held any mercy, the only true love they knew coming from home and family. The lot of them were, in a sense, cast out to sea, waiting for the sharks that, in later days, would perhaps arrive to consume a number of them.

The thought made Thor angry, his jaw tightening and fingernails digging into palms. All of these people, whether they realized it or not, were in a state of ever-increasing jeopardy, all running the same risk of being slaughtered or used to suit his fool brother's needs.

"Precious, aren't they?"

Thor sighed, refusing to make even the slightest move. He could not be noticed, the others had told him. He had to remain as invisible as he could, avoid any unnecessary contact with the city's citizens. And the present situation, his mind screamed, eyes not daring to glance at the stranger beside him, was nothing but trouble waiting to happen.

"They're all going to die, you know," the voice went on, and Thor bristled at the sudden sensation of familiarity. "They don't have a choice." A smile. "Poor little remnants. They're all that's left of the Midgard you so foolishly came to love."

The God of Thunder moved to stand, tensed as he felt a hand grab him by the wrist. He sighed, settled back into his seat again, and shook his head.

"Maybe you should just go home, Thor."

"I am home."

"I meant to Asgard."

"Why?" His voice was low and wary, his head turning slowly. "So that you may follow? Claim your revenge against Asgard and her people as well?"

"To warn them," Loki said, a look of feigned concern on his face. His gaze was heavier somehow, Thor thought to himself. _Darker._"It may not be today, or even tomorrow, but I will return to take Odin's throne. Cast the glory of Asgard into the very same hell that I can only remember."

Thor bit his lip, breathed deliberately slow breaths so as to ease his pounding heart. If it came down to it, he would again fight his brother, stop him if he could. But, having witnessed all the change in the world these past few years, having seen so much death and destruction and misery circling the globe over, Thor would much rather try to reason with him.

But that, Loki's eyes told him, would never happen.

"You'd best convince your little friends to play my game, Thor," Loki told him, as he moved to leave. "You won't last very long if you don't."

The thunder god stood, took Loki by the back of his coat, and pulled. "_This is no game!_ These people's lives are not tokens for your amusement! They live, they breathe, they feel, they bleed! What claim do you have upon them?! What right do you have to use them as but pawns; toys?!"

Thor flinched, eyes wide as his glasses fell to the ground, Loki's hand rising to pat him briskly on the cheek.

"'What right,' you ask?" Loki smirked, the plastic breaking beneath his heel. "The right of Midgard's king, dear brother. Or don't you remember? I won the battle, and you lost the war. And that's all there is to it. So humor me, Thor. Bring your mortal friends, and play my game."

His grip vanished, gaze narrowing as Loki kept on smiling at him. "Seven days, you said. Seven days for what?"

Loki sighed. "It really is no fun if I give away the ending, but... In three days, one of your Avengers will disappear. As for who it is, I have yet to decide. You will have seven days to find them. If you cannot, they will die. As will a part of this city."

Thor's stomach dropped. _"What?"_

"Prove yourselves the heroes this filthy planet deserves. Gather the Avengers, and save this pathetic race from demise. Prove to the mortals that you _deserve_ their trust and respect."

"And if we do?"

Loki shrugged. "Then you win."

Thor growled. "Win what?"

"Must I spell it out for you, Thor? You shall be granted safe passage back to Asgard to gather yourself an army, or whatever else you desire. And your friends will remain untouched until you return."

"Then what was that about cheating? Another jab, was it?"

"Oh, well that..." Loki laughed. "You are forbidden to tell your friends _anything_ of this exchange. You must convince them on your own. Get them to _trust_ you."

His heart sped up again, the steady throbbing in his chest growing harder and louder until it was all he felt, all he heard in his ears. He chanced a staggering step forward, but found himself falling, the cold, wet ground coming up to catch him as he went down. Thor wheezed, stared up at the sky that looked down at him between the tops of the trees, and wondered.

How could he protect these people, protect his friends, his family, and keep true to the challenge set before him?

"It's all right, Brother," Loki's voice hissed in his ear. "It will all be over soon, and you won't have a thing to worry about."


	7. What Might Have Been

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 7: **What Might Have Been

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Alibis" by The Birthday Massacre.

* * *

The room was dark, just as it ought to have been. One side of the bed was tousled, the sheets curling in on themselves and the pillows flattened. The other was untouched, the blanket smoothed out and with no sign of anyone having settled themselves beneath or on top of it. And it would remain that way, she had decided.

The television screen was blank, dark, staring at her from the wall as Natasha leaned forward to rest her chin upon her knees. She always had dreams about him, about them. Not just her and him, but _him_, too.

The most recent had scared the assassin well out of her mind, causing her to wake in a fit of heavy breaths and cold sweat. She had been with him again, their hands together, fingers intertwined as they walked the streets as they had used to. Streets that were filled with people, with crime in the dead of night, rather than with impostors in false human skin. Clint had stared at her, that stupid smile on his face as he opened his mouth to speak, only to fall forward against her shoulder. As she reached out to catch him, he vanished, falling into a heap of ash that was whisked away by a rushing wind. Natasha turned, trying to grab the outline of what must have been his hand, only to have her own seized by that bastard as he began to mock her with that damned laughter.

_"Poor little remnant."_

She hated him. Oh, how she _hated_ him. He had done this to her, to them, to Clint. He had taken the world out from under them like a rug, leaving them to fall and flounder about as they searched for a way to take humanity back from the hands of madness.

How had he died again? Natasha couldn't remember. But perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps it was for the best that she couldn't see him writhing in a bloody heap or struggling for breath with those monsters clawing at him.

Monsters, she thought. The Chitauri. _Loki._

He had fallen from the top of the old SHIELD building, she suddenly recalled, feeling again as though she were pinned to the concrete rooftop, fingernails scraping against his hands as he tried to strangle her, hissing in her ear that she was going to die. Clint had come charging in, she remembered, arrows blazing, one of them striking the would-be king in the shoulder. He'd faltered, her hand coming up to deliver a blow to his jaw. She'd taken great satisfaction in knowing that she could make a god bleed.

Then, a moment too late for her to react, Clint had gone over.

He'd teetered backwards, unable to maintain his balance he stepped back one too many times, his heel slipping over the edge, causing him to drop. Her eyes had gone wide, the monsters appearing out of nowhere, screaming as she'd watched him fall. It had scared her, more than being restrained by invaders, more than watching him go down, knowing, seeing, that Loki had been the one to grab him instead of her.

The two of them had glowered at one another as she struggled, kept on screaming, managed to get close enough to the edge to see Clint's face as he scowled. She'd heard a sound, the subtle beginnings of restrained laughter, and looked to the bastard god, her heart sinking as he cast her a sideways glance, as though it were all an accident, and let the archer fall.

The last she'd seen of Clint was the widening of his eyes as he looked to her, his mouth open as if he were screaming her name, his hand reaching for her as, in seconds, he disappeared from sight, certain to break like china on the ground below.

"Promise me," she whispered. "Promise you won't leave..."

Natasha curled in on herself, lungs burning with every breath, her face flushed and eyes red. She swallowed, heard him whispering in her ear the way he had so many times before.

He could have been here with her, should have been, if not for that bastard. It made her angry to know that, because of Loki, everything they loved was slowly dying. One piece at a time, and always brutal as hell. He liked to see them squirm; make them suffer.

It was Thor's fault, too, she thought, and threw her shoe against the wall. If he hadn't screwed up, hadn't come here, hadn't allowed himself to be sucked into Fury's damn Avengers Initiative, Loki wouldn't have followed him, wouldn't have set out to destroy the God of Thunder and take the rest of them down with him. There would have been no Destroyer in New Mexico, no invasion, no war, no dying city set on a steadily crumbling world. And, most importantly, their team wouldn't have been reduced to a quivering bunch of misfits living underground.

Rising up against this was suicide. Impossible.

_"But you are all about the impossible, are you not?"_

Natasha frowned. "Shut the hell up..."

_"We may have lost the battle, but that does not mean we have lost the war!"_

"We have," she sighed, flopping back on the bed. She shoved the ends of the pillow over her ears so as to drown out his voice. "We can't fight this, you idiot. There's nothing to do now but wait. Sit in the dark, and wait to die."

_" We can. We can end this. Together."_

"Together?" Natasha rolled her eyes. "That's cute, Thor. He used to say that, too, you know. He used to say that nothing could separate us. But look at where we are now. I'm here, and he's in a pine box six feet under..."

He'd promised, over and over, that he'd never leave, that he'd never go anywhere. From the day they'd been assigned as partners within SHIELD, sent overseas to fulfill impossible recon missions and assassinations. Each and every time they donned their disguises, set foot on the plane or ship that would take them to their destination, Clint had always said the same damned thing.

"What if we get separated?" she said aloud, staring up at the ceiling. "Will you come find me like a big boy, or am I gonna have to babysit your ass?"

The archer would always smile, the warmth in his eyes peering out from behind those favored sunglasses he always wore.

_"I'll come find you. I'll always find you."_

"And if we're trapped? So impossibly screwed that only one of us can escape? What will you do then? Will you leave me?"

_"We'll both get out, or we'll die trying."_

Natasha allowed a smile to grace her lips, her fingers grazing the plush of his pillow. "Then promise me. Promise to look for me. Promise you won't leave me for dead. Promise you won't run off alone."

_"I swear on my life. There's no way in hell I'm going anywhere without you, Nat."_

God, how she missed that voice of his.


	8. God Is In His Heaven

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 8: **God Is In His Heaven

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Miss Jackson" by Panic! At The Disco.

* * *

Looking up, it was the same again. The light coming through the rippling surface, staring down at him as though he didn't have a shred of damned hope. And he didn't, what with his hands pressed hard against the liquid barrier, their faces passing him by as though they walked along the white sands of the shore. Not a one of them spared him even a glance until she came along, came and sat in silence in that shimmering silk gown of hers, the one with the long sleeves he'd always adored.

She stared out at sea for a time, the light upon her face changing colors as the seconds passed, his lungs burning the longer he waited for her to notice him. In his mind he pleaded for her to look his way, see him struggling and reach in to pull him out and into her arms. But, when she finally turned her head to face him, her eyes went wide, hands drawn to her mouth in shock. This would be the moment, he thought. She'd hesitate for but a minute before she took to him, pulled him to everlasting safety.

But as she moved, perhaps to take hold of his hand, her eyes moved away, moved skyward as she fell back in a muted heap on the sand, hidden from view until, at last, he dragged himself out of the water and clawed at the ground, struggling for breath.

He wanted to speak, demand to know why she had taken so damn long, waited and let him fend for himself. But when Loki turned to face her, he scrambled back, kicking up white flecks of sand as though it were snow in winter.

There she lay, limp and lifeless, devoid of breath and changing from pale white to a deep red. He trembled, reached for her, pulled her gently into his arms and wondered why, how.

Staring into her cool blue eyes, he flinched, let her fall and hurried to the water's edge. There, plain as day, was the same dark stain gracing his face, arching from his heated brow to the point of his jaw. Loki grimaced, cast his hands into the surf in an attempt to wash the blood away.

This wasn't real, he kept telling himself. He couldn't have killed her, wouldn't have murdered his mother for anything; not even Asgard's throne.

_"What have you done?!"_

Loki's eyes shot open wide, Thor's shape looming over him in the water's reflection. His expression was full of rage, grief, confusion, the likes of which would have otherwise tickled the God of Mischief like no other. But he grit his teeth, tried to shout, tell Thor that he didn't know a damn thing about what had gone on and that neither did he. But there came no sound, just the crackling of thunder as Loki found himself frozen to the spot, left staring at the blood that still clung to his skin as Thor raised the hammer and brought it down upon him with a sickening crack.

He bolted upright, leaning far too easily over the side of the chair to hack and clear his lungs.

Thor had to die, he thought, finally righting himself and moving fluidly across the floor. That much was certain, and this bizarre dream of his confirmed it. His once-brother was nothing more than a threat now.

He had become the sort of ringleader since Nick Fury's death, as the others had been more than willing to let things go on as they were, wait for death to come and claim them. It was certain that, with his naive nature, Thor would have tried time and again to motivate the last of the Avengers, coerce them into rising up against the new society, against him. And, if Loki knew just how hard he'd hit the lot of them, which he did, they would only continue to insist that Thor keep his damned mouth shut.

But there was always the chance that they would gradually come to side with the God of Thunder, take his words to heart, contemplate their losses and seek to right their wrongs. Rise to his bait, as it were. As he slinked into the elevator, the thought made Loki smirk.

He was actually counting on their playing his game.

Thor was irritating, and would drive them to the brink of madness in a matter of days, manage to talk them into joining in on what, to Loki, could only be fun.

Tony Stark would swear to his family that he would protect them; Banner would vow to use his curse to satisfy the needs of the people; Maria Hill would struggle to avenge the deaths of Fury and Coulson; Thor would seek to reason with him yet again; and dear Natasha would dream only of driving her blade through his throat as revenge for her dear archer's death.

It would be a race, Loki had decided weeks before. A race to see just who and how many would survive. If he perished, the game would be over and the Avengers would have their precious Midgard back. They would be free to do with it as they pleased, albeit with the lingering shadows of their dead hovering over their shoulders. If he succeeded, he would toy with the rest of them, pick them off one at a time like ants as he laid siege to Asgard. And Thor, at the very end, would be little more than a shell of the man he was once it came time for him to die.

They couldn't stop him, Loki decided, and swept out the doors of the building, mingling with the passing crowds. They had no chance, but a game was a game, and, as such, he'd play by the rules laid out on the table. It wouldn't be fair, let alone any fun, were he to sniff them out and kill them before the day was out. There was nothing to be said of a war won without the presence of a challenge, and Thor, daft as he was, could certainly bring a bit of a struggle to the playing field.

Now, the only thing left to do was draw them all out into the open and let the fun begin. And figure out just why he kept having the same damned dream.

**# - # - # - #**

"You are an idiot," she said sternly, and didn't bother gauging his response, knowing full and well that Tony would stare at her for a moment before managing to collect himself and make more excuses. "You're doing no such thing, and that's final."

Across the table, he leaned forward and purposefully smacked his head, causing Bradley to stare at his father and neglect his plate of macaroni.

"God, Pepper," he finally groaned, "I'm not asking you for a lung here."

"No, you're not." She stood up from feeding Gwendolyn, the spoon held tight in her forming fist. "You're just asking me to let the man I love go out and start another war. You're just asking me to let the father of my children go out and _die!_"

Tony pushed off the table, sent the chair to the other side of the room where it tipped over against the island, probably chipping the polished counter. His eyes hardened as Jane wandered in from the other room to see what all the yelling was about.

"Is everything–"

"We're fine," Pepper replied, far too quickly. Without looking away from Tony, she reached into the high chair for Gwendolyn, pulling her baby into her arms before offering her to Jane, who accepted readily. "Jane, would you take the kids to their room and play a game for a while?"

Shrugging, Jane looked between the two of them, probably sensing the tension as Pepper led Bradley to her by the hand. "Sure."

As the boy stared up at her, Pepper saw the scientist smile, offering her own hand to him as she began asking what he knew about stars.

The two waited until their voices vanished, before deciding to continue.

"There's something I'm not telling you," Tony finally said, looking somewhat sheepish. "It happened a few days ago, and I didn't know how to say it."

"I know you went out for cigarettes, Tony," Pepper sighed and began clearing up the table. "I know you sneak out to go running every few days, that you can't stand being cooped up in here. I know you can't sleep, that you have nightmares, that... you kept the suits."

She ran the water, the warmth pouring over her skin as she took the brush and began scrubbing away the stains from their dinner and rinsing milk out of the cups.

"The cigarettes are easy because of the stench," he muttered, and Pepper could hear him pacing. "But it's..." He stopped. "How in the hell did you find out about the suits? It's not like I hid them in the closet, or put a helmet under the bathroom sink..."

Turning her head, she stared into his curious brown eyes and forced a laugh. "Did you really think a five-year-old boy would be able to keep from his mother the fact that 'Daddy's a superhero?'"

Tony hung his head and said nothing.

"Did you think that Bradley wouldn't tell me that Daddy promised to make everything okay?"

"I... I met a man the other day... Said he could help us pick up where Fury left off. That we can find a wauy to end this madness. And..." He looked her in the eye. "And I want to try."

Pepper frowned, snacked the plate in her hands against the side of the sink, causing it to break.

"So you're going to fight, is that it, Tony?! You're gonna go out there all half-cocked because you've got the suits, and you're gonna get yourself _killed_, Tony! You're gonna die, and then what'll we do?! Do you think I _want_ to raise our kids alone?! Don't you want them to have you with them, to remember what it's like to have a family waiting at home?!"

She hadn't even seen him move, hadn't heard him come up behind and wrap his arms around her waist, pull her close against him.

He was warm, she noted, his cheek against her shoulder welcome. His hands moved, took hold of hers, and sighed.

"Dammit, Pepper. You're bleeding."

The comment was disregarded, her arms throwing themselves about his shoulders as she turned, hugging him tight.

"Promise me," she sobbed into his shirt. "Anthony Edward Stark, you damn well better promise you won't leave me here alone."

She could feel his breaths slow as he squeezed her back. "I swear, on my life, that I won't let you be alone..."


	9. This Train Won't Stop

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 9: **This Train Won't Stop

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Live To Rise" by Soundgarden.

* * *

"You _cannot_ be serious."

Hair hung in Thor's eyes as he stared, mouth agape, as Tony smirked at them, standing before the projection upon the wall. The live feed from the news was nothing short of astonishing, the details of the latest headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen as Natasha scoffed with disdain.

"Serious as a heart attack, Natasha, my dear," the billionaire replied, turning his back on them so as to show off a beautifully tailored black Armani. He peered over his shoulder before turning his gaze on them again. "I was a little iffy on the pants, so I might as well ask. They don't make my ass look big, do they?"

A smack was heard in the room as Maria threw her head against the nearest wall, muttering to herself about what a damned idiot Tony was for going behind their backs like that.

Thor's teeth clacked together as Jane pushed his jaw back up into place, and he too couldn't help swallowing as the thought finally occurred to him. Tony had undoubtedly let someone in the media world know that the infamous Iron Man would, on this very night, be taking over Grand Central Station to hold a gala ball and a press conference. He must have paid the city very well, considering he had been allowed to go through with the idea, thus attracting all manner of unnecessary news coverage, the likes of which their dwindling little group didn't need.

While it had been Thor's idea to stand against his brother, show him, and the world, that they would not sit back and die in silence, he had never expected a one of them to agree with him. That is, not quite like this. Agreeing to formulate a plan as a group was one thing, but sneaking about with the help of Jarvis and a great deal of money was not what the God of Thunder had had in mind in the slightest.

In fact, it was the polar opposite of his original intention: To go about their operations as covertly as possible.

"I don't know what to do with you, Stark," Maria grimaced, rubbing her head as she leaned against the wall. "I doubt I'll ever know how Director Fury was able to manage."

The very mention of the former director's name was enough to make the air in the room go stone cold, the hair on their bodies standing up with the brief electric charge that came with the awkwardness of the whole situation.

"Well, that's a damn good thing," he retorted, "because you sure as hell aren't my mother." Tony smiled, turning back around to face them as he motioned towards the projection. "Don't you guys see? This could work! Loki's lied to the world; said that we're _cowards._Well, if we stay holed up in here forever, he'll be right. And I sure as hell am not going to be outdone by some stuck-up, lying little prick like him."

"That's how people die, Tony," Pepper said from the hallway. There was a dark shade under her eyes, the sort that told the tale of a great lack of sleep and the struggle of having to put two wailing children to bed. "Trying to outdo one another."

"He's not even a person," Natasha chimed, her gaze chilly. "He's a god. A bastard god."

Thor bit his tongue.

"Come on, Sparky," the Iron Man sighed, almost as though he were pleading. "You're the one who proposed this shit in the first place. Don't back out on me now. Don't... Don't make me into the liar that my son can never trust again."

"That's interesting, Tony." There was false surprise in her tone as she stared him down with her lackluster eyes. "What exactly _did_you promise our son? I can't quite remember."

The man visibly licked his lips, looking almost crushed as he revisited the memory.

"I kept the suits," he said, drawing an angry sigh from the assassin. "Just a memento, you know? Memories of the good old days where the bastards could be beaten back. I never even considered using them again until I thought about what Loki said in that broadcast. That we're nothing. I didn't... I didn't want my kids to grow up in a world where they're made to feel like less because they're human. I didn't want to die knowing that they've been treated like dogs or that they may not survive the next day." He looked Thor right in the eye. "So I told him." His words were strong, almost defiant. "I told my son that I _am_ Iron Man. Not that I _was._ I told him about the old heroes. About men like Steve, Barton, Fury. I told him that people do bad things to one another, and that I wasn't going to let our fate become his. I promised him... I promised my little boy that Daddy would make everything okay."

Thor's eyes went wide, his feet moving back a few steps as the Iron Man approached to jab him in the chest.

"So don't you dare back out on me now, Thor. Don't make me out to be a liar and a deadbeat father to my kids."

The God of Thunder drew breath through his nose and nodded, pulling a familiar crooked smirk from the man. The very same he had used to wear.

"Well." Natasha hopped off the counter top and stretched her arms out. "I guess I'm in. If it means keeping a promise to that sweet little boy of yours, I think I can manage. Just so long as you fill us in on any more of you brilliant ideas." A tight-lipped smile. "And if I get to take a damn good crack at that glorified snake."

Their voices fell on deaf ears as Thor looked about the room, saw the same glimmer in each of their eyes that they had had following Coulson's demise. They had come together as a team in the time of adversity, put aside their differences and worked with one another as best they could. Maria too nodded her agreement, and Thor found himself filled with warmth once again.

The familiar sort that he would have experienced in the presence of family.

"Sir," Jarvis cut in, "shall I prepare the car for later this evening?"

Tony shrugged. "That all depends," he said, offering the god his hand. "Are you in, Sparky? You ready to go the distance?"

Blue eyes lingered on the man's face a moment before moving down his arm. Though they were gone, he could still see them in his mind's eye, hear their voices.

"I am with you." He took Tony's hand in his, the sign of a pact. And, as the word lingered upon his quivering lips, he pushed it off the end of his tongue with reverence. _"Brother."_

**# - # - # - #**

"This is _not_ happening!"

A web of cracks appeared in the glass beneath his fingers, the dark-eyed reflection of his face split into slivers as Loki trembled and stared bitterly out the window.

It was unthinkable that that idiot Thor would manage to talk the mortals into uniting against him once more. Had it been anyone but the God of Thunder, there would have been no reason to fret. But, by Odin's throne, Thor somehow possessed a bizarre and nearly irresistible sort of charisma that, for centuries, had been used to inspire others into righteous action. And, though that was not quite the heart of Loki's fears, it had certainly just become a very big part of them.

Behind him, the doors swung open, the sound of heels echoing through the room as the woman swept across the floor, her breaths heavy and eyes wide with worry.

"Is... Is everything all right?"

Her voice alone irritated him, grated on the last of his very nerves, and Loki turned to backhand the wine glasses off the tray in her hand, their lithe shapes breaking into tiny pieces upon the floor.

Damn, these people were irritating. Squabbling for position, for a place within the good graces that he did not posses. They had plastered themselves upon him, following like dumb puppies looking for a hand to feed them and offer praise. They would not have it, Loki had decided. Conquering Midgard had served but one purpose, and that was to bring him a step closer to taking Asgard from right under Odin's quaking feet. These people, mundane and foolish as they were, served as nothing more than the means to an end.

"Leave it," he murmured, the woman now on her knees so as to collect the dripping shards of glass. Loki grit his teeth, feeling the large window pane continue to strain beneath his skin. "And get out."

Like the frightened servant women of Asgard, she skirted out of the room without hesitation, the doors comfortably clicking shut behind her. He couldn't stand having wide-eyed women dote on him unless it was called for.

Loki sighed, stepped back across the bits of glass, causing them to crack beneath his heels. The station, now packed with news cameras and people desperate for a good story, appeared in the window as though it were a screen, a red carpet stretched out to the curb as cars pulled up to deposit their important cargo into the party that was nothing less than the highlight of the city for the night.

He smiled, catching sight of the familiar little collection as they stepped out of Stark's limousine, each looking to the other before taking a few venturing steps into the mass of media personnel. Thor tugged at the collar of his suit, appearing as little more than a bear in a tie than a gentleman, the mortal woman he was so very fond of nowhere to be found.

"You have every intention of playing by the rules of my game, don't you, Thor?" Loki said, his own evening attire appearing with a snap. "Well, let us see just how well you do... when I refuse to follow them myself."******  
**

**# - # - # - #**

"What is it you plan to do about the proposed challenge, Mr. Stark?"

Natasha openly rolled her eyes, earning a nasty glare from the anchorwoman as she awaited Tony's response. The man shrugged, not even acknowledging the obvious tension between the two women in front of him. Rather, he reached into his suit pocket for a cigarette, and lit up before the camera.

"There's something everyone needs to understand," he replied, exhaling a heavy cloud of smoke. "And it's that we never stopped trying. We never gave up when our comrades fell, and we don't intend to now. If it's a game Loki wants, that's what he'll get. And, when all's said and done, I will personally hang his ass out to dry." Tony shook his head. "Because I'm sure as hell not afraid of a prick like him. King or not."

The assassin pushed past the crew as the anchorwoman, to her great surprise, opened her mouth to correct Tony on the proper honorifics he was supposed to use when speaking of the so-called king. It made Natasha sick to her stomach to know that so many people, for whatever reason, had had the gall to side with that traitorous snake. And as she moved swiftly up the steps and into the station, now decorated to appear as a ballroom, the woman couldn't help feeling the incredible urge to lean against the wall and retch.

Her had swiped a wine glass off the tray of the nearest waiter, downing the thing as though it were air before tossing it to the floor. She couldn't give the slightest damn as to whether or not these people were trustworthy, let alone what they thought of her. It didn't matter anymore, anyway. Recent statistics had shown that, surprisingly, a vast majority of the citizens of the state had decided that things were better as a whole with Loki in control. There was a distinct lack of crime for fear of their "king's harsh punishment," and so long as the citizens were free to go about their daily lives, they had agreed that nothing had changed for the worse.

Natasha, of course, couldn't have disagreed more if she had tried. Perhaps the people didn't know, or perhaps they didn't care, but it wasn't comforting in the slightest to know that, when one went out to wander the streets, half of the citizens seen were little more than Chitauri soldiers clad in human skin, spying, reporting back to the monster who had led them in their onslaught of Earth. That, the assassin was convinced, was how Loki knew what occurred across the globe. He had undoubtedly spread his forces to every corner of every country, giving himself eyes and ears into places that he could not see without the aid of his damned spells and tricks.

"You are Natasha Romanoff, correct?"

Turning on her heel, Natasha found herself staring into the face of a foreign man, very obviously German, as he stood a few feet back with a couple of wine glasses in his hands.

"Who the hell wants to know?" she shot back, snatching the glass as soon as he moved to offer it. "I don't do autographs."

"Christoph Hirsh," he replied without a hitch, pausing only to bring the wine to his lips for a drink. "CIA. And... former SHIELD operative."

Natasha froze, gagging on her drink at the mere mention of SHIELD. Since Nick Fury's death the year before, the only known SHIELD agents, being herself, Clint, Maria Hill, and Jasper Sitwell, had split up and hidden what little of the organization's information they had been able to recover before the building had gone down as well. And she had never heard of this Hirsch character, to top it all off.

"Are you going to tell me that you left SHIELD to join the CIA?"

"I was transferred," he corrected. "There was some... difference of opinion with Director Fury, to say the least." Hirsch paused, cast his eyes about the room as though he were looking for someone. "But that was before you joined their ranks, Agent Romanoff. Some weeks before Agent Barton was sent to kill you, I believe." He turned back to her expectantly. "Is he here tonight? Agent Barton? I can personally guarantee that he will vouch for my story."

Natasha swallowed hard. "No. He's dead."

The man's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Dear God... Forgive me, I didn't know."

"Don't worry. It's not your fault." Natasha grimaced, her voice low. "It's _his_."

"I'm sorry...?"

"Nothing," she said, and looked Hirsch in the eye. "I believe you. If you hadn't been with SHIELD, you wouldn't have known about Clint. Let alone that he was sent to kill me. So..." Natasha took him by the arm and led him away from the anchorwoman from before who, after finishing her interview with Tony, had decided to try and get a word or two from the rest of their team. "What is it you wanted to speak to me about, Agent Hirsch?"

He appeared surprised by her question. "Did Mr. Stark not inform you of the conversation I had with him the other day? I was fairly certain that, after giving it some thought, he would–"

"You really don't know Tony, then," Natasha laughed. "He likes his secrets. And he's not always easy to persuade, either.

Hirsch gave her a wry smile. "I should have known. Well, to avoid taking up too much of your time, allow me to just explain the basics..."

His voice trailed off in her ear, Natasha's attention immediately captured by a familiar glow that flitted about the room as she stared over his shoulder. She had seen it before, in her dreams, as she stood over the edge of an overly-exaggerated cliff and watched her partner fall to his death in the canyon below. Even in the pleasant memories, those of the days when they had traveled the globe together on reconnaissance missions, playing a game or two of cards while on the plane to Tibet or wherever else they were going.

Her green eyes followed it, mouth slightly ajar as it dropped down and disappeared behind the mass of people dancing in the middle of the room. As if on cue, the dancers parted so as to leave an empty strip of floor between them, allowing Natasha a fleeting glimpse of that damned smile.

The assassin's mind screamed murderer, her hands shoving Hirsh aside as she rushed across the station and found herself caught up amid the spinning couples, he head turning from side to side as she sought to find him again.

"Natasha!"

Turning on her heel, the woman found herself staring into the worried eyes of Thor and Maria as the God of Thunder caught her in his arms.

"Natasha, are you all right?" Maria asked, touching her arm. "What in the hell has gotten into–"

"He's here," she said, leering up at Thor. "Dammit, he's here!"

Sighing, the god pulled her against him, held her the way he would have held Jane if she were crying.

"Don't worry," he whispered, and Natasha could hear the tremor in his voice. "Everything will be all right..."


	10. Drunk On Power

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 10: **Drunk On Power

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Wishing Well" by Ben Moody.

* * *

The bar that had been brought into the station for the party was littered with glasses, both empty and full, all manner of alcoholic beverages bubbling within their various shapes. His fingers were wrapped around one, downing as much of the vodka as he could without choking on it amid his laughter. In his other hand sat the smoking cigarette, a piece of it crumbling as Tony drew it to his lips and took a drag, accidentally breathing the smoke back in as Gerald Winford, an old friend of his father's, told the most godawful jokes.

Tony hacked, doubled over as Winford's wife slapped him on the back. "For God's sake, Gerald! Stop trying to kill my poor boy!"

The billionaire smiled, eyes watering as he righted himself. No matter how old he was, the now fragile old woman would never stop calling him her boy. There had been one year at Christmas, the same year he'd turned seven, that Dolores had whisked him away after dinner, driving him through the streets so he could look at all the lights, as his father had insisted that he was "too busy" for something so mundane.

"Oh, God, Dolores," he laughed. "Not so–"

The words caught in his throat, a hand having taken hold of his tie and pulled. Tony gagged and dropped the cigarette, the glass managing to fall onto the counter top where it landed on its base after a few tipsy moments.

As he turned, Maria's hand clapped itself against his mouth, the look on her face demanding that he not bring any additional attention to himself. So, it was with a sheepish grin that Tony excused himself, and followed the now scurrying agent until they were reunited with the others.

Licking his lips, Tony slipped another cigarette into his mouth, not daring to set it alight for fear that one of the three seemingly stressed women in the group might snatch it away and stomp it out. Rather, he settled for chewing on it.

"Sorry if I'm being rude," said the billionaire, noting that the CIA agent was among them as well, "but would someone mind telling me why in the living hell I had to be dragged away from good old company?"

"They're here, Tony," Natasha told him, eyes moving across the room to survey each face that passed them by. "_He's_ here. I saw him myself."

His teeth clamped down on the butt of the cigarette, his eyes rolling as Tony slipped a hand about Pepper's waist. "That doesn't surprise me. You're obsessed with him, Natasha. Of course you're going to see him everywhere."

"No," Thor cut in, his hand firm on Tony's shoulder as he squeezed. "I feel him, too. Loki _is_ here."

Tony remained silent for a moment. "Well, all righty, then. But, in the meantime, I'm gonna go get another shot of vodka. Pepper, would you care for–"

"Just because you're hammered, Tony, doesn't mean I need to be, too. We have two you-know-whats waiting for us elsewhere, and I will not be going back drunk out of my mind."

Shrugging, the billionaire wandered away from the group, humming to himself as he ignored Hirsch, who insisted that they all stay together and ended up on the same page.

Back at the bar, the jolly old folks were gone, leaving Tony to sit and do little more than wave the bartender down and talk to the empty glasses that littered the counter beside him as he continued to drink. It wasn't fair, he told a particularly pretty little wine glass, that everyone expected him to have his act together all the time. It wasn't his fault that the world had gone to hell and that he'd picked up on smoking the damned cigarettes so that he'd have an outlet for his uncertainty.

"Isn't it?"

Blinking rapidly, Tony stared at the glass, certain that it had just spoken to him. "No, it's not. It's that bastard's fault," he slurred. "It's always been his fault. Ever since Agent... God, what was his name?_Fuck_, I know his first name was 'Agent...'"

"Tony."

"Please," he said, chin on the counter as he held the glass between his hands. "Please be quiet. I'm trying... I'm trying so damn hard to–"

"For the love of God. _Tony._" He stared into the other man's face, uncertain of who he was for several long seconds. "It's me. It's Rhodes."

Tony swallowed, allowing the wine glass to tip over and spill on his jacket sleeve. "Rhodey?" A laugh. "God, what in the hell are you doing here?"

"Looking out for your ass," the officer muttered in a low tone. "You're out here in public, making a scene, bringing along your friends, and you're... Tony, you've completely exposed yourselves. This isn't a good idea. This is..." James turned his head, taking in the faces around the room before looking back to his friend. "Tony, they're here, and they're waiting to take you down."

"Me?" Tony snickered. "God, why the hell is it always me?"

"Not just you. All of you; any of you. Hell, for all I know, that snake could come out of the damned wall and whisk Pepper away! You'd never see her alive again, and you know it!"

"What do I know again?" he slurred. "I... I can't remember..."

James sighed, pulled Tony against his shoulder and slipped something into the Iron Man's pocket.

"Listen to me, Tony. Somebody in your group is going to disappear in the next twenty-four hours. I wish I could tell you who, but that's all I've managed to find out. I shouldn't even know this much. You remember the broadcast, don't you? It's part of Loki's game, and over half the people here tonight have no problem with him being in a position of power so long as their money isn't affected. And it's not."

Tony groaned. "Aw, shit..."

"You walked right into the lion's den, Tony, and you're about to be screwed for it. So, watch your back, and keep your friends close." The man cupped his hand around Tony's ear, and whispered, "And do everything you can to find Dr. Banner before it's too late."

His head now spinning, Tony sat himself upright, managed to look James in the eye as he teetered back and forth.

"They're here...? Thor was... Wait... What about Banner...?"

He pressed a hand against his head, eyes squeezed shut. When Tony dared to expose his retinas to the bright light of the room, James was gone, and he was staring dazedly at an empty seat.

Even when drunk, Tony Stark did not appreciate being ditched.

"Dammit, Rhodey," he huffed, and felt himself hit the floor as he fell from the bar stool. "You can't just... walk out on me... like that..."

**# - # - # - #**

She was panicking, afraid that, at any minute, the frightened breaths that escaped her body would soon become trapped in her throat, strangling her with her own fear. The phone was held to her ear as she paced, hoped that the sound of her pounding heart would not startle the children. She had put them to bed as soon as she had gotten the message from Darcy an hour before, and had spent the rest of the time trying in vain to contact the man who, for years now, had pushed her to continue the research that had so cruelly been taken away.

"Is there anything I an do for you, Ms. Foster?" Jarvis quipped, startling Jane out of her skin.

Jane didn't know what to say or even what it was she wanted. Her brain screamed at her, told her that she just needed to calm down and find out what had happened to Erik.

"Can... Can you track him?" Her voice sounded far more alarmed than the one in her head. "Uh... Erik's last known location was..." Jane's fingers flew across the screen of her phone, sifting through Darcy's text messages before she stopped, nearly dropped the device to the floor. "Oh, God... I can't believe I didn't think of it before. Jarvis, can't they track us through our phone records?"

"There is no need to worry," came the reply. "Mr. Stark has built hack prevention into the codes of all cellular phones registered to operate within my system. It is therefore safe for you or any other members of the team to use your devices without worry. Should anything from the outside breach the perimeter, I am also equipped with–"

"That's great, Jarvis. More than I needed to know." Jane jammed her finger into the last message she had received from Erik, copying the time and date stamp into her head. "Can you pinpoint where this last text was sent from? The one from January 26, at–"

The far wall lit up with a projection of Jarvis' search, zooming in to show a map of the United States before honing in on what appeared to be the dead center of New Mexico.

"The untitled text was sent from Dr. Erik Selvig's cellular device on January 26, 2017, at precisely 18:34:27. Point of origin is the Detton Hotel and Casino in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The device has not moved from that position since, Ms. Foster. I am sorry."

Jane sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. "What about..." She trailed off, dialed a number, and held the phone to her ear.

"Jane?" Thor's voice came in from the other end of the line. "Is something wrong?"

"Erik's gone missing," she said simply, imagining the look of shock on the god's face. "I haven't heard from him in three weeks, and he was supposed to pick Darcy up from her brother's house two days ago so she could fly out here. And now I can't get a hold of her, either."

Thor sighed into the phone, followed by something that sounded like a horrendous burp.

"For the love of God!" she heard Tony groan. "Stop putting shaved chocolate in my–"

"We will be back soon, Jane," the god sputtered, perhaps to keep her from hearing the rest of Tony's supposedly drunken chattering.

She nodded. "Yeah." And hung up the phone. "Okay..."

* * *

Just a note, the Detton Hotel and Casino is fake. I just opted out of using the real name of the place.


	11. Search And Destroy

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 11: **Search And Destroy

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Krwling (Mike Shinoda feat. Aaron Lewis)" by Linkin Park.

* * *

Flipping from one side to the other didn't do him a damned bit of good. No matter how he tried, the whole of his body throbbed. On his left, his head ached, had a heartbeat of its own. On the right, the pain was sharp, stabbing, right behind his eyes as though he had been jabbed with the sharp end of a pen. The past hour had been spent seeking a comfortable position, as, when Tony finally dared to crack his eyes open, the bedroom door was ajar, and Pepper was gone, having left him to sleep off what was left of his alcohol-induced slumber.

He pushed himself up, leaning back on one arm as Jarvis began asking the questions of the usual morning routine, the voice just a big long buzz in Tony's head as he blinked slowly, trying to right himself. In a daze, he finally swung his legs over the side of the bed and shuffled to the closet, throwing on a pair of blue jeans and a randomly selected shirt before seizing his suit jacket from its hanger.

James had said something to him, he thought, trying to recall what. He'd been so damn drunk by the time he'd gotten through with the Winfords, that the rest of the night seemed to be just a blur. What little he did remember came through in pieces. Natasha's fiery glare as he stood with the group, completely disregarding their words; Pepper, who had blatantly refused to take part in his little one-man drinking party; Thor, answering his phone with a look of concern. But there was nothing about the colonel, save his face, that Tony could bring himself to remember.

Without thinking, his hand reached into the pockets of the jacket, seeking the cigarettes that Pepper certainly hadn't left on the nightstand for him. His fingers closed around a piece of paper tucked into the left side, the expensive piece of clothing fall in a heap upon the floor, forgotten as Tony leered curiously at the note.

_ : 17893 N Slater Place_

"The hell?"

The man scoffed at the letters, the taste of liquor still on his breath, abruptly tempted to just take the thing and hold it over a lit match so as to watch it burn. It didn't tell him a damn thing about Banner, let alone how to contact him. The address, assuming that's what it was, wasn't even complete, and the person who had written the note had been stupid enough to have left out a city, state, and the damned postal code.

His fingers ached to feel the fragile little thing crumble up in his palm, yet something in his head demanded that he turn the thing over.

As he did, his gaze went wide, a small smile beginning at the corner of Tony's mouth.

"Jarvis."

"Nice to see you're fully awake, sir. Would you care for a bit of coffee? I believe Ms. Foster is in the kitchen brewing a pot as we speak."

"I'm skipping breakfast, pal," Tony said, picking his jacket up off the floor to withdraw the cigarettes from the inside breast pocket. It was thrown back up on its hanger soon after. "I want you to do a search on 17893 North Slater Place, and tell me whether or not the following number belongs to a cell, home phone, or an IP address. It's 769.483.2511."

Tucking the beloved remains of the Pall Mall pack into his back pocket, Tony stared thoughtfully at the hologram of the search as Jarvis ran the material through the system. Following several strained moments, a dot appeared on the map, fading out at Tony's unspoken request to present a three-dimensional model of a city, a blinking light coming from an apartment building.

"Houston, Texas," Jarvis reported. "The building is a former apartment complex, now shut down to the public and housing only a single tenant. A Mr. Edwin Michael Samuels, who reportedly moved in eighteen months ago. Records show that, in July of 2015, Mr. Samuels paid the owner fifteen thousand in cash to allow him rent of the building through this coming summer, and to keep his residency out of the public eye and off the record. Clearly, his latter request was blatantly ignored. The transaction with Mr. Samuels was uploaded as a sealed file to the owner's personal database."

Sunglasses came up over Tony's eyes as he gave a curt nod, pulling on the ratty brown jacket and fisherman's cap that Pepper kept promising to throw out with the trash.

"And what does this Mr. Samuels do for a living, Jarvis?"

"Nothing, sir. There is no record of an Edwin Samuels matching this man's personal information anywhere in the job market of Huston, let alone the rest of the county." A moment of silence, presumably provided for a response to the statement. "So far as I can tell, Edwin Samuels did not even exist until eighteen months ago."

Tony smiled, the paper crumpling beneath his fingers as he shoved it in his pocket along with his wallet.

So that was why the colonel had showed up at the party.

"Good job, Jarvis," he said, practically skipping out of the room. Despite having spent the whole of the night drunk, the day promised to be a very productive one. "Bookmark the search and store it in the SHIELD files, would you?"

"Tony? Tony, are you awake?"

He walked leisurely down the hall and out into the kitchen, a smile on his face as Pepper stood at the stove with a pan of eggs.

"Not hungry, Pep," he blurted, plucking Gwendolyn out of her highchair to tickle her with his beard. The infant squealed. "But I'll take some of that coffee to go in a thermos."

"That's odd," Maria said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "You usually laze around until about noon or so."

Tony made a face and shrugged, putting his daughter down and pulling out the pockets of his jacket so as to make a point. "All out of smokes. Need to get some more before I crash. You know. The life of an addict."

Pepper lifted the glasses from his eyes, leaving the eggs to sizzle in the pan as she watched him with great suspicion.

"Tony, you nearly drank yourself into a coma last night," she said, sounding motherly. God, how he loved that about her. "Don't you dare tell me you're not still hung over."

"I feel fine, Pepper. Really." He removed the glasses completely and folded them up in his hand. "See? My eyes aren't bloodshot, and I don't have a headache." Such a blatant lie. "Now, do you need anything while I'm out? Maybe some mushy baby food or something?"

"No," the red-haired woman sighed, moving back to the stove to remove the pan and distribute eggs onto the others' plates. "Thor, Jane? Do either of you need Tony to pick anything up?"

The God of Thunder turned quickly around, looking rather surprised that anyone had dared to speak to him, his hand on Jane's shoulder as she peered blankly into her untouched glass of orange juice.

"Uh... No, thank you," he said, and nudged his girlfriend gently. "Jane, are you in need of any–"

"I'm fine," the scientist replied, sounding blue. She, too, turned back in her seat to look at Tony, and forced herself to smile. "Thank you."

The billionaire gave the couple a curt nod and kissed Pepper on the cheek, slipping the glasses back over his eyes as he headed for the door.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he said, offering a sloppy salute. "Probably gonna get a quick run in while I'm out."

Bradley, who jumped out of his seat and rushed to his father's side, wrapped his arms about Tony's leg and beamed up at him with those wide eyes.

"Daddy? Will you bring me and Gwen some candy?"

Tony looked from his son to Pepper. "Uh..."

"Please, Daddy? Please?!"

"Candy!" Gwen repeated, dropping her spoon on the floor. If nothing else, she certainly knew what treats were. "Candy!"

"Is candy okay, Mommy?" Tony asked, putting on a puppy face. "For after dinner tonight?"

Pepper rolled her eyes and smiled. "Okay," she said, giving in. "But only after dinner. Understand, Bradley?"

"Yes, Mama," the boy nodded, leaning against Tony's leg with a grin. "I love you, Daddy."

It was all a hardass like Tony Stark needed to melt his mechanical heart into butter.

"I love you too, son."

**# - # - # - #**

In the god's mind, he could see the man running, lungs on fire as puffs of air escaped his open mouth, down the streets and weaving through crowds of people who either ignored him or shot him dirty looks for getting in the way. Down one block, across the street, and right up onto another, with little or no thought turned towards dropping down an alley or changing direction. Nothing. Just a singular, straight line that, in time, would lead him right down to the steel-forged footpaths of the bridge as it hung above the Hudson River.

It was always the same route, they had told him, and it thus made the likes of Tony Stark far easier to track. If only, he thought, the stubborn man would deviate for one. He would pose far more of a challenge than this. Stand a better chance of survival, as well.

The collar of his coat stood up, pale eyes opening, the wind taking a good bite out of the people who walked headlong into it, causing those traveling in pairs to huddle together and link arms as they pulled their scarves and hoods tighter about their bodies. It made him almost miss Jotunheim; all the times they'd traveled to the frosted world as young men, as curious young warriors seeking blood and adventure. The mortals of Midgard would not last even a scant few minutes in that wasteland, devoid entirely of light and warmth and with a race of barbaric people stalking through the snow to welcome them. They would die, as so many of them deserved to, and the remainder of the Nine Realms would forget them, just as they would soon forget this worthless planet.

"He is still alone?" Loki murmured, not bothering to look up as a man with a rather blank expression approached. "You are sure?"

The man nodded, his eyes like dark glass as he motioned to the steadily moving form of Tony Stark as he took his first few steps onto the bridge, quickly passing the both of them by as he coughed, perhaps cursing himself for having taken up smoking.

"Your duties," Silvertongue hissed, giving the other a solid two-fingered thump in the chest. "What are they?"

A shudder wracked the man's body, drawing the god's lips into a sardonic smile. He held up a hand, began counting off on his fingers in a hoarse voice.

"Follow," he gasped, "destroy, and report."

"That's right," Loki told him, speaking in a manner that he would have used with a young child. "Now, you would do well to follow my instructions to the letter; understand? Because, if I have to be bothered to find him and finish your assignment myself... Well, we both know what happens to you, don't we?"

The man nodded hurriedly, flinching away from the brisk feel of a blade slicing a thin line into the skin of his throat. As flesh parted, the space surrounding it grew a dull grey, fading and flaking until the wound gave way to a metallic sheen.

"Death," he croaked, fastening the top buttons of his coat. "Death."

"Well, it would seem you lot are more intelligent than I gave you credit for." The God of Mischief scowled, turning the other right around and giving him a shove. "Now, go! Don't lose sight of him. And do not make me regret granting you this chance."

With his face carefully blank, the man rushed off across the pathway, not chancing a look back.

"I wonder, Mr. Stark," Loki said to himself, fingers pulling through his dark hair. "Just how many times will I have to kill the Avengers... before they stay dead?"

**# - # - # - #**

_"Damn..."_

His voice fled his body in a high-pitched hiss, hands dropping to his shaking knees to keep his body steady and upright. When his life had been spent in naught but luxury and thrill in Malibu, it had been an easy task to drive out to the canyon and run a scant four miles or so before peeling right back down the highway to meet a lovely girl or two waiting at his front door. But all the time spent fighting, working, fleeing, had taken to running his body down to the point that a jog across the George Washington Bridge was more than enough to cause Tony to keel over and vomit.

Nausea ran through Tony like a battery charge, one knee touching down on the ground as he sputtered and swore, hacking up the half thermos of coffee he'd chugged before throwing the rest in the trash with the container. He swiped at his mouth, wondering why in the hell he'd thought that, as a man with smoker's lungs, he could pull this off.

"Guess... even Iron Man's got limits," he heaved under his breath, tapping the side of the device sitting inside his ear. "Jarvis...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"How far," Tony breathed, sucking in great lungfuls of air, "is it back to base from here... if I walk...?"

"Feeling under the weather, are we, sir?"

A weary nod. "Yeah, you could say that... So, how far...?"

"You should feel very proud, sir," Jarvis told him. "From this point on the bridge, it is a six-and-a-half mile trek back. However, should you press on to Center Avenue, you can catch a cab and take it back across to Central Park. From there, the walk is rather short."

"I knew it was a good idea to set up shop down there... But everyone thinks I'm crazy..."

"If I may say, sir, you are a bit... eccentric. You did, after all, just run all this way without realizing it."

Tony laughed, righting himself as he began walking. "If running almost seven miles is eccentric, then I don't know what in the hell you're going to call all the other shit I've done."

"'Unbelievable' is what comes to mind, sir."

"Thanks, pal," the man muttered with sarcasm, pulling the coat from his body and tossing it to the ground. If he was going to walk all the way down to Central just to catch a cab, it wasn't going to be with the godawful thing thrown about his shoulders. He should have allowed Pepper to throw it out long before this. "Jarvis, give me some tunes to–"

"Did you not bring your _wallet_ with you today, sir? I imagine it could be rather useful in saving you the walk."

Tony smirked, rubbing the back of his head as he reached into his back pocket, allowing the red metallic thing to fall to the ground as a rather shaky gentleman bumped him on his way past.

"Oh, God!" he exclaimed with false concern. "I've dropped my wallet!"

A number of people either rolled their eyes at him or kept on walking as Tony stood eagle-spread on the footpath of the bridge, the wallet abruptly shifting and shaking as it gained height, allowing him to finally step into the boots of the suit.

"Sending the rest your way, sir," Jarvis reported, and Tony could feel the rush of the wind rippling across his skin. "Arrival timed at three, two, one..."

Tony flinched, staggering backwards as pieces of the suit began to fly against him, clicking together and wrapping his body in the armor as passersby began to either coo with excitement or swear in regards to the Iron Man's sudden return. They were all ignored as he donned the mask, the thrusters sending a sharp tingling through his legs as, for the first time in a good few years, he was lifted off the ground and up into the air above the city, the map appearing in the display of the helmet, pinging the point in Central Park that would take him straight back home.

"Maybe we should skip the cab, eh, Jarvis?"

"Shall we take the scenic route back, sir?"

"Hell," Tony smirked, "why not? And let's swing by the Tower, shall we? It's about time that prick Loki realized who he's picked a fight with."

**# - # - # - #**

It was without little thought that she rushed through the maze of pathways that had protected them from outsiders, from invaders, for so long. The darkness of those corridors beneath the city had since become a source of comfort for her, knowing that, were they ever to be followed, no man would manage to find the point of access that lead to the place that the lot of them now called home. Down one passage and up another until she ran, legs screaming, through the unseen doorway that allowed her exit into the park, the underside of a pond bridge above the assassin's head to greet her.

Natasha pushed herself, not knowing just where it was she was going. The only thought in her head was that brought on by instinct, by priority. The demand that she find Tony as quickly as humanly possible and drag his ass home so she could wring him out to dry.

The idiot, she thought, had exposed them more than once now, having opted to sit down and chat with Agent Hirsch in the days before and to openly threaten Loki on a national news feed. Everyone who was loyal to the bastard would be hunting them with even more fervor than before, and it was certain that they would not stop until the so-called king held a public execution for them. But, there was still that faint glimmer of hope; the idea that, by some otherworldly miracle, they could best him at this game he had challenged them to, and bring their world back to the sense of normalcy that it so sorely missed.

"Look!" she heard someone shout, and turned her head. "Mom, look, it's Iron Man!"

Natasha felt her heart stop dead in her chest, eyes moving up towards the skyline of the city to see him, that faint silhouette of red and gold, soaring across the grey expanse as though he had not a care in the world. A faint smile graced her lips, a sigh escaping her in relief as she rushed towards him, knowing full and well that, sooner or later, he'd have to touch down somewhere in the park so as to find his way back to where she was; to where they could both go home.

But, as the thought crossed her mind, a shrill sound sliced through the air, stealing away her hearing for a moment as the sky lit up like a display set off on the Fourth of July. A hot cloud of flame erupted from the suit, Tony's figure zigzagging across the sky before making a beeline towards the park, smoke coming off his tail as people dropped to the ground, screaming and covering their heads.

Natasha followed suit, could not hear the impact nor the boom as he touched down, only able to feel the flame as it emanated from several yards away.

As the people got to their feet and began fleeing the scene, the assassin bolted towards it, her mind screaming that the likes of the arrogant Tony Stark could not possibly be dead.

The world turned upside down then, her back flat against the ground as she stared upwards at the grey clouds, rolling over to yank the unknown object that had tripped her out of the ground.

Staring, Natasha could only shake her head, denial screaming through her mind and numbing her as she wondered: What in the hell would she tell the others? How would she break it to Pepper, to the children?

Still hot, one side was charred and scraped, one of the translucent lenses smashed in and dented, the other steadily flickering with that unearthly blue light before, with a spark and a sputter, it died out in her hands, as if having drawn its final breath.


	12. Who Killed Tony Stark?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 12: **Who Killed Tony Stark?

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Building A Monster" by Skylar Grey.

* * *

Across the floor it clattered, a few small pieces of the cracked lens breaking loose and dropping onto the tile with a quiet sound. So easily it was drowned out by Pepper's gasp, her hands coming up to lay against her mouth as she stared in horror at the helmet, glancing briefly from it to Natasha before collapsing in a fit of tears. It had been her worst fear, Natasha noted. To raise her and Tony's children without him there as her support, as the kids' father. Bradley, too, looked up at her with a strange look, only to glance back at his mother before raising his arms to the assassin, little face growing red.

Natasha scooped him up into her arms and held him close, his hands fastening themselves about her neck as he shuddered. Poor baby, she thought, and set to swaying back and forth to rock him. He should never have seen this, should never have known who and what his father was. But what was done was done, and it could not be taken back. Tony had chosen to show his son the suit, his past, for a reason, though not a one of them could accurately say just what he had intended by doing so.

"Is that Daddy's head?" Bradley sniffled in her ear. "Auntie Tasha...?"

She rubbed the boy's back through the fabric of his shirt, his quiet sobs growing louder as she squeezed him back.

"Your daddy loved you," she said quietly, closing her eyes as Jane leaned into the thunder god's arms. "Remember? Daddy said he loved his baby boy."

He wailed against her shoulder, shaking and hiccuping as Natasha moved to sit at the table, wanting so badly to squeeze the pain right out of him.

Why? That was the question that loomed, no answer in sight. Why did this have to keep happening to their own? Why were they seen as such a threat? Why had the people turned on them? Why were their efforts always in vain? Why couldn't they win? Why were they together? Why did they feel so very alone?

Scream, cry, run, she had to do something. It didn't matter what, she thought, felt her mind grow hazy and numb. A lie. It _did_ matter, and it always had. For five years, they'd been doing this all wrong, hiding out when they should have been actively collaborating the way Thor said they needed to. They hadn't had their shit together once since the invasion took over, since they'd decided it best to split up across the globe and go underground. It was only after the untimely deaths of Steve and Fury that the the lot of them, save Bruce, had come together, agreed to live in the replica of Stark Tower that Tony had developed beneath the city streets. Safety in numbers had been the idea, and it was now, again, pounded into their heads as they mourned him.

Going out alone was a risk. Even a promise of death.

_Monster,_ she thought, burying her face into the boy's hair. _How could you do it? How could you steal away the happiness of an innocent little boy?_

**# - # - # - #**

Bradley didn't understand the purpose of the ceremonies, of digging a hole in what must have been a giant sandbox, burying bodies and things that had belonged to the dead. He couldn't fathom why they all dressed up in what his mother called their Sunday best, only to trek outdoors to a run-down part of the city to stand together and cry. But, most of all, he didn't understand why his daddy had had to go away.

Daddy had promised him, said he'd make everything better, stop the bad guys and make everybody happy again. That's what the heroes in his story books did. That's how Captain America had been, the stories had said. They used to be real, his parents would tell him. Good guys like Captain America and Nick Fury and Agent Coulson. Even the Hulk, who had always looked to him like a bigger version of the man wearing leaves on the label of the green bean can. But now, they weren't important to him. They weren't the super heroes he'd always wanted. He loved Captain America, but he'd always wanted to see the Iron Man. A guy in a suit of armor who, the way his daddy had put it, had been a genius, a man who had finally learned to put his wants aside so that he could help other people, keep them from getting hurt and feeling bad.

His mother nudged him forward, several tiny yellow daffodils, that he had collected from the park on the way over, in his hand. Though she had told him not to, Bradley dropped to his knees in the dirt and crawled across each nameless slab of tattered stone, leaving one of the colorful little weeds beside each one.

Bradley scurried to the freshly dug up mound of dirt where the remains of his father's suit sat, fingers pulling through the soft soil and dirtying the cuffs of his own little suit. His hands closed around the object when he saw it, replacing it with the daffodils and pulling the thing to his chest to further soil himself. His mother objected, stooped down to separate him from the helmet which he refused to let go.

_"No!"_ he shouted tearfully, and pulled away from her. "I want it! It's Daddy's, and I want it!"

His mother's face fell, her eyes sad and quiet as she pulled him into her arms. "Okay, baby... Okay..."

He curled into her, crying into her dress as he squeezed the dented metal. It made him want to crawl under the bed and disappear. Because, as soon as Iron Man had shown up, he had died. And he had taken his daddy with him.

**# - # - # - #**

"I am returning to Asgard." His tone was low, reverent, had been for the past two days. "Enough blood has been spilled, and..." Thor squeezed his eyes shut, lowered his head. He _hated_ to have to say it. "I no longer have any hope in reasoning with my brother..."

Had he ever really held onto that hope, or was it just something he talked about? Did he not know, all this time, that Loki would not listen to him, would not be reasoned with? Was it not certain that his brother delighted in all of this mayhem, this death, seeing it as little more than yet another display of his power as a god, as Midgard's king? These questions troubled Thor, choked him from the inside out, made him feel as though he were the fool in this, the reason things had gone so terribly wrong. But that was true, wasn't it? He _was_ the fool here, having stood on that fragile line between loyalty and betrayal. While he had proclaimed loyalty to his friends, he had lied to them, set them up to be taken down by constantly insisting that his brother would change; refusing to raise his hand to Loki and strike him down.

He would go home to Asgard for a time, speak to his father, seek out an army of their own and bring his friends back with him. Perhaps, with the magnitude of destruction and the drastic change that had taken place across Midgard, the Allfather would hear his pleas and grant him his hefty request.

_"In three days, one of your Avengers will disappear."_ Thor frowned. This wasn't a disappearance. This was murder. _"You will have seven days to find them. If you cannot, they will die. As will a part of this city."_

But that was the trick, the God of Thunder told himself. He had already wasted two days in silence, working to sort out this problem on his own. They could not find him, could not bring Tony back the way they so dearly wished to. So the people would die, would suffer by way of Loki's arrogance. And there was nothing they could do to stop it now.

"The people of this city are going to die," he blurted, muscles clenching. "And we cannot stop it."

He could feel their eyes upon him, all filled with horror and hate and sorrow. But he could tell them no more than that, he decided, their questions beginning to descend. He had made no promise to Loki to play this hellish game, but Thor could not bear the thought of costing another of his friends their very lives.

One way or another, he had been unmistakably roped in.

"Why?" Maria would not look at him, at any of them, her head bowed so that she could stare at nothing but her own reflection in the glass tabletop. "What do you know?"

Within, Thor cursed himself for having spoken even this lightly on the matter, knowing full and well that his brother would manage to find out, do everything in his power to cause the thunderer yet more pain. He could not risk their safety in order to earn their trust. He wouldn't.

"It is–"

"Don't you _dare_ say it's nothing." Her hands fell against him and he staggered back, caught off guard by the woman's advance, her fury. "We're watching people die, and you're going to tell us that this is nothing? That the death of this city, this society, doesn't mean enough to you for you to spill your dirty little secrets?"

"I cannot say!" His voice rose, struck a fever-pitch that caused the god's ears to ring. "Believe me when I say it is better for all of us!"

"Why should we believe you?!" The flat of Natasha's hand struck him. "Why should we trust you?! All you've done since the beginning is try to protect him! He _murdered_ our friends! _Your_ friends, Thor! And still you seek to coddle him!"

Coddle? No. Protect? Certainly. For years now, Thor had spent his time chasing after his brother, pleading, begging that he give up this fool obsession, return home in peace. Too long he had tried to save Loki from himself, his own addiction to such an ever-widening scale of mayhem, and each attempt had failed. Miserably. It could not go on forever. He could not keep on playing protector and savior. For the person he'd take a bullet for had become the one who stood and proudly pulled the trigger.

"The game," he said, "has already begun. Loki intends to destroy this city, your people, one day at a time if I refuse the rules he has proposed. But I fear he would regardless." His blue eyes met with hers, hardening. "For this reason alone will I tell you. The terms of the agreement are that you must trust me of your own accord. That we must operate as but a single unit to find the one he has chosen to spirit away within seven days. In this case, Tony."

Jane narrowed her eyes in confused frustration, shaking her head. "Thor, he's... Tony's _dead._ We can't–"

Maria looked up from the table as if to ask just how much time they had remaining.

"Five days," was the reply, "for I have already wasted the other two in deciding whether or not to break the unspoken word he holds me to."

The Black Widow snorted, hurrying off down the hallway without another word. Her anger, he could understand. But her lack of understanding for the predicament in which they found themselves, he could not. They needed to trust him now, allow him to play the lead. He who knew their enemy above all others. He who could more than hold his own in a battle of strength. He who, without their aid, was sure to be no match in a contest of unmatched wit. Deceit.

"I will go to Asgard." His voice boomed throughout the room. "The rest of you will remain, collaborate with Agent Hirsch, perhaps seek to penetrate my brother's defenses. If we can find a way to get close enough, we ought to–"

Her boots struck the floor with the sharp sound of haste, a phone in her hand and held to her ear as the distant buzz of a ring came through the device.

"How good is your acting?" the woman demanded when the call was answered. A few moments of silence as she nodded, casting Thor a mildly irritated glare. "Well, you'll have to do better than portraying a dog in a children's play, Hirsch," she told him. "Otherwise, we're all going to be sent straight to hell. Now, in thirty minutes, you're going to meet me..."

The god's brow furrowed, the hammer thrumming from its position on the couch in the next room as the children attempted to lift it. Just what was she doing? What ploy had this woman developed within a matter of minutes? And just how would it fare?

The device found its safety in the pocket of her jeans, legs carrying her behind Thor's back to the coat closet, the lightweight fabric coming about her shoulders as she slipped into the brown sleeves.

"Where are you–"

"To meet with Hirsch, if you must know," she said, refusing to grant him eye contact. "You're going to Asgard. I'm going to break into that damn tower, even if it kills me."

"Natasha, this is not a safe–"

"Safe?" Her eyebrows arched in disbelief. "Tell me, Thor, does any of this seem even remotely _safe_ to you? People are dying. _We're _dying." A thin smile came about her lips as the woman pulled open the door. "And don't call me Natasha," she told him. "Until this is all over, it's Natalie. Natalie Rushman."


	13. What Long Days Bring

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 13: **What Long Days Bring

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Happiness: Requiem From The Blind Alchemist" by Michiru Oshima.

* * *

It was here that they would play in jest, laugh at one another's expense and waste their time drinking and telling tales late into the evenings. They would fall asleep together, sprawled out across the room, their raucous laughter fading away into the chirping of the crickets outdoors as they were lulled into that familiar embrace of slumber, not even knowing that they'd drifted off under the spell of liquor and exhaustion until the bright rays of light filtered through and roused them. But, with all those sweet memories were the few that stuck out in his mind, traveled through his veins so as to jab him fiercely in the heart. The days that had frightened him the most; made Thor believe that there would never again come peace.

Such pain it caused him, to know that these happy halls would never again be the same; that they would continue to shine on as though not a thing had changed; as though no man had ever come and gone. With a deathly silence, the Son of Odin sat stone still upon one of the plush couches of the room, staring with an empty gaze into the gently flickering flames of the rotund golden basin. It was only when another bit of wood and charcoal were flung into it that he stirred, as if having been startled into wakefulness.

They sought to speak to him, he knew, their tongues overflowing with words, ideas of what to let slip and what to hold back. But not a one dared, instead opting to speak through their eyes, their faces, try to cheer him up with fool expressions that were only wasted.

"It cannot be so bad as all that," the blond warrior finally quipped, stroking his light beard a bit thoughtfully. "The Allfather must have a purpose, you know. He would not ask you to wait so long for something so trite as, say, serpents in the stables."

The God of Thunder forced a grin, catching on to the poorly veiled reference to the famed tricks of the past. Petty mischief, as a number of the palace's inhabitants had often called it. Spiders in the kitchen, fish in the bathhouse, and so on. Simple little acts that, to Thor and his friends, had often been the greatest source of laughter throughout the kingdom. Only after his naughty brother's consistent efforts to expose poor Fandral as a skirt-chasing fool to every sensible woman this side of Asgard, that is.

Those words made him uneasy, head tumbling over with thoughts and assumptions that, the longer he sat with them, threatened to tear him from the inside out. Loki, their father must have known, had lost all sense in these past few years upon Midgard, moving steadily away from any initially preconceived notion of bringing prosperity to the people under his rule. And it made Thor wonder even more. Did the Allfather know about the senseless killings? The Chitauri spies clad in human skin, carrying out his brother's commands? The Avengers, forced to hide from the world that they so dearly loved?

He must have, Thor decided, for, unless his brother had again managed to shield his actions from the eyes of the Gatekeeper, he would not have held such fear and bile within his gut.

Odin knew, he finally decided, swallowing. It was all a show, a mess of theatrics on Loki's part to draw Asgard out into open war. A means with which to annihilate what peace was left in the Aesir realm, steal away her throne from beneath the Allfather's crumbling corpse.

Thor bit his lip, flinched only when Sif moved to rest her hand over his. A kind gesture, but somewhat insincere. She mourned him, his pain, sought only to relieve it. Yet, all the while, he could feel the fury burning beneath her skin, her desires, her dreams, of bringing Loki to his knees in penitence, if not in death.

And that, he hoped she could see, only served to wound him more.

The creaking of the doors frightened him to his feet, heavy breath upon his lips as Thor felt himself move, rushed to the side of his father as he took wearying steps within. His hands came to stop the king, pull him into the embrace that he had sought for so long, the words that slipped off the Allfather's tongue falling upon ears that had been deafened by the beating of Thor's own aching heart.

This was real, and he was home.

"That cannot be," Sif murmured, and his blue gaze turned over his shoulder to face her.

The expression she wore was that of genuine shock, fear that Thor, too, would come to wear. The Allfather's words were repeated, his legs growing shaky beneath him as the Thunder God began to sink to the floor, one hand grasping desperately at his father's hand.

_"What?"_

"I am sorry," Odin sighed, his other coming to rest in Thor's golden hair. "All that can be done, has been done, yet it was not enough. Your mother... She died waiting for him." There was a slight edge in his tone as he drew breath, the prince's glazed eyes moving upwards to look into his father's own. "Your brother."

**# - # - # - #**

It horrified him, the sound, ringing deep and loud within his head as though it were but the booming echo of Mjolnir striking its head against the earth. He bolted upright, hair somewhat matted and skin glazed with sweat. If it were not the dream hounding him, then it was the emptiness of the dark, the echo of screams that, Loki imagined, could only belong to him. No sleep, the god had come to realize, could be found in the days of late. Not since the beginning of his falsely proposed challenge.

There came not another sound from behind the door as it opened, a pair of women sidling across the room to the side of the plush couch which he had, again, fallen asleep on. The first he easily recognized. The same timid woman who all but jumped at the sound of his voice. Why she had lasted this long in his service, Loki could not recall, making himself a mental notice to remove her as quickly as he possibly could. Either by death or other means, he presently cared not.

The second had a lingering air of familiarity about her, that matching that of the arrogant Sif, though her appearance easily would have masked it from any man unfamiliar with such behaviors. Fair hair, like that which his mother could have spun out of but a handful of tattered thread, and wide eyes that shone as but the glittering blue seas of Asgard. All the same, her beauty, it seemed, was nothing to be made a fool over, for she cast him but a singular glance before turning her nose up and rolling her eyes behind the flat panes of glass. Clearly, this one was not quite so easily impressed as the others. Probably a rebel, he thought, and one whose attitude would require some serious adjustment were she to remain at all.

"What in Hel's name are you doing here?"

The words came out with less bite than Loki had intended, the newcomer looking rather smugly at him as the other woman swallowed, spoke in hurried whispers about how she had chosen to resign. A fact which startled the god into seriously considering making her a public example like the others who had defied him.

Why, he hadn't chosen her to begin with. From the start of his rule, there had been a number of people clamoring for his attention, ranging anywhere from political figures to plainclothes folk, all seeking to stay strong in the god's favor to buy themselves both prosperity and a new public face. To be of use to Midgard's king had, for lack of a better example, become the equivalent of serving the former world leaders or even becoming one. Or rather, as Loki would prefer to say, they sought to become gods of sorts themselves.

These games he had permitted them to play, having opted out of having a say in any of the matters unless they directly pertained to things of importance, such as the control of the Chitauri or information on the Avengers and the like. But, as for the rest, he had no interest; no reason to give a damn as to what petty things the mortals clamored on about. In the end, they were all the same to him: Lambs for the slaughter.

"She's leaving," the newcomer snapped, dropping her things on the table and offering the trembling woman a kind smile. Absolutely unbelievable. "Get over it."

Loki growled under his breath, already not the least bit taken with this one, watching as the shuddering figure of the other all but sped out of the room, his gaze almost hypnotized by the fear that radiated from her skin. He flinched, a reasonably sized stack of papers promptly shoved into his face by the now scowling blond as she took a seat on the couch as though she owned the place.

The arrogance.

"My resume," she said, and took to adjusting the folds in her skirt. "Not that it'll matter, but I figured it would be best for me to bring my own references and such rather than to be searched and scanned by your little minions."

Loki stared, speechless.

"Yes, dear, I've done my research. I know all about you and your little habits." A nod to the papers. "And now you know all about me." A pause. "Oh, and make a note that I'm not going to babysit your ass. There is a distinct difference between babysitter and attendant."

Sassy, this one.

"And your name–"

"Don't you read?" She kicked her heels off. "Top of the page, just like any other resume."

Why she kept referencing him to the damn paper, Loki didn't know. Nor did he care. As an outsider to this realm, he wasn't fully accustomed to all of their foolish rituals, and cared relatively little about this woman's various exploits as detailed in what must have been a good fifteen pages or more. At least, he thought not, until his eyes darted across the first, noting with mild interest that, aside from having worked for Tony Stark in the past, she also had an apparent talent in espionage and, quite possibly, assassination. If the god knew one thing about the operations of Midgard's nearly defunct government organizations, it was that a woman like this didn't end up with a position as an agent of the CIA without having one hell of a talent in self-defense and killing.

Silvertongue frowned. She was upfront and opinionated, sassy, deadly, and certainly unafraid of him. Alluring. And familiar. Almost like...

"Don't stare," she ordered, snapping him out of it. "It's rude, and I'm not a porcelain doll on display."

"I would say not," Loki snorted, the pages scattering across the floor as he allowed them to drop. "I imagine there's nothing fragile about you, Miss..."

"Rushman, you fool. Natalie Rushman." A nod towards her resume. "You'd know that if you bothered to read."

"If it were worth my time, perhaps I would." He shrugged. "It may surprise you, darling, but–"

"Ms. Rushman," she corrected. "We're not friends."

"–I only read that which I deem worthy of my undivided attention." He paced before her position on the couch, the soles of Loki's shoes leaving marks on the pristine white pages, much to the woman's annoyance. "I care not for your accomplishments, past, present, or future. All that matters..." Loki leaned towards her, the pad of one long finger tracing the jut of her jaw. "...is that you serve your king."

Her hand slapped his away, a cross expression falling across her face as she leered at him.

"No," came the hiss. "You are not my king. You're just a murderer."

Those nearly colorless blue eyes of his widened, a sly smile creeping in across Loki's face. She was spirited, this one. He liked that.


	14. Good Morning, Euphoria

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 14: **Good Morning, Euphoria

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Weathered" by Creed.

* * *

Hours, if not a few days, he had been avoiding them, nearly shot out of the sky on a number of occasions and by various attackers. Fighter pilots, a tank or two, and, of course, those damned alien spies. He was scraped up, paint chipped and flaking off into the distance as he remained airborne, the thrusters now beginning to sputter as the alarm went off in Tony's ear, causing his eyes to open slowly as he awakened.

His hand moved to rub the sleep away, the fist smacking the face plate of the mask with a metallic sound that ground his teeth together in agony. Another headache, what with having had missiles and bullets blowing right past his now very sensitive ears.

"Sir, I highly recommend you get in contact with Ms. Potts."

Tony rolled his eyes, closing them again as he opted to allow the autopilot to continue running. Now, Pepper, he thought, would be sure to gut him if she found out he'd played dead. She'd hate him, scream at him, maybe even consider leaving him and taking the children along with her. The last part, he realized, was just his own fears at work. Not even a possibility. Not with the dangers lurking about New York, let alone the rest of the planet. Pepper wasn't foolish enough to run off on her own with two little ones on her hands. No. But she was, however, highly likely to kick his ass out of their bedroom and force him to sleep on the couch for the next two months. Far less extreme than leaving, but no more desirable.

"Sir, we are running low on–"

"Yeah, sure," Tony muttered under his breath as he began to doze off again. "Let's just get to... Houston before... I..."

The suit dropped, warning alarms going off in Tony's ears. His head spun, body tumbling over itself through the atmosphere as he fell, passing by clouds and finally coming face-to-face with the city below. His eyes widened as Tony began shouting, demanding to know why in the hell Jarvis hadn't mentioned the fact that the suit was low on power sooner than this.

_"Shit! Shit! Shit!"_

The Iron Man flailed, the display in his helmet indicating that the velocity of the drop was continually increasing. It flared red, alerting Tony to the building that was coming up below.

"Jarvis! Throw whatever we have left into the–"

It was with a hefty thud that he collapsed, smacked the rooftop far harder than anticipated, causing the suit's display to utterly black out. Tony groaned, head now throbbing as he moved slightly, one hand scraping the gravel atop the building while using the other to flip himself over onto his back. Reaching up, the helmet was removed and flung away, landing some several feet off to the left. That made two, he thought bitterly, noting how he'd already been forced to toss a helmet into the missile that had followed him after his departure from the bridge.

Another shaky breath, eyes moving to peer up at the sky where the sun loomed over him, bright and warm and burning into his retinas.

"As I was saying, sir, we are running extremely low on power."

Groaning, the billionaire pushed himself up on one aching arm, managing to drag himself across the roof towards the edge.

"And why... is that...?" he huffed, staring blankly down at the city below. Cars everywhere, filling the streets almost as they would have in Manhattan. Not quite as chaotic, but close enough. Certainly dangerous enough, as well. It would be a nightmare if he had to hike through Houston to reach his destination. "Why didn't we stop... earlier?"

"As you have been unaware," Jarvis explained, "I have made several pit stops along the way so as to allow your body to gradually become re-accustomed to normal temperatures and altitudes."

Tony frowned. Why the hell would that have mattered? "Jarvis, what in the hell are you...?" A pause. "Wait. What day is it?"

"January the twenty-ninth, 2017, sir."

"The twenty-_ninth_?!" Bolting upright, Tony looked from side to side for something, anything, that would display the time and date for his own eyes to see. But there was nothing. "Where the hell did the twenty-seventh go?!"

He could almost hear the sigh. "That's what I've been trying to tell you, sir. Even at our speed and with all the precautions we took, it has taken a good two days to ensure we have thrown off the Chitauri agents and successfully falsified your death. And, as I mentioned previously, the pit stops so as to allow–"

"God!" Tony lamented. "Two days?!"

"I thought it best to be very thorough, sir."

"Oh, _God_."

Two days, and everyone back in New York, let alone across the globe, was under the impression that the great Tony Stark had been taken out by a group of extraterrestrial minions belonging to a bastard with a serious complex. Not a one of them knew that he was alive, let alone that the plan had never been meant to be quite so extreme. At the very least, he'd wanted to let the others know he was fine.

"Idiot!"

Swing by the tower, he'd said. Show that bastard Loki just who it was he was playing hardball with. And then they had come, as if summoned on the wind, chasing after him with their guns and missiles, trying to drag him to hell as they followed him through the city. It had been an all-out air battle, he recalled, firing back and forth and working to lose them amid the mass of buildings. Explosions, bullets, pieces of skyscrapers tumbling into the streets below. Just like the first time. A quick change of direction, towards Central Park, in hopes that he could drop out of the suit and land in the lake while Jarvis took care of the rest.

Of course, as Tony was sitting atop a building in the middle of Houston, only a part of his plan had worked out.

"Where are we?" he asked with a shake of his head. "And, so help me God, Jarvis, if you say 'Houston' or 'Texas,' I will short out your system when we get back."

"We are precisely two blocks northeast of 17893 North Slater Place."

His legs shook as Tony forced himself to stand, wobbling back and forth a moment to collect the helmet before lining himself up with the corner of the building and turning around.

"That way, right?" He pointed straight ahead, indicating the structure situated catty-corner his stance. "Say yes, Jarvis."

"That is correct, sir. But, if I may ask, what is it you're planning to–"

"Hit the thrusters when I say 'now,' Jarvis!" Tony shouted back, and took off running towards the opposite side of the building.

"Sir, this really is not advisable, as we are almost out of pow–"

"Just do it!" He felt himself fall, the concrete vanishing from beneath him as Tony stepped off, arms waving as though they'd keep him afloat. _"Now!"_

The suit teetered, the thrusters buzzing and sputtering as Tony managed to propel himself forward, touching down on the top of the building as the power was cut.

"Keep it going!" he instructed, and kept on running. "Just like walking on water!"

"Sir, I really don't think that, in the time of Christ, anyone had jet-propulsion technology."

Groaning into the helmet, the man refused to dignify the comment with a response, managing to make it to the corner of the next building before the pinger in his helmet went off, signifying that they were in the right place.

Yanking off the helmet again, it was tucked under his arm as Tony stepped off the side, slowing his descent with one chipped and dented hand. The ground greeted him with a heavy welcome, the impact of having touched down while still in the suit suddenly shaking him through to the bone. Tony flopped backward and landed on his ass in front of the door, groaning as he leaned further back so as to lay down.

"Okay," he wheezed, eyes closing, "I'm done. I'm just gonna, you know, hang out down here until our fictional friend Mr. Samuels arrives to–"

"Oh, God. Stark?"

Tony cracked an eye open, whining quietly as the sun jabbed him. A shadow hovered slightly between him and the light, the silhouette slightly smaller than he remembered. And with a good deal less hair.

"Hey," the billionaire greeted, waving a hand lazily. "How's it going, Ed?"

The other man sighed, shaking his head slightly as he bent down to offer Tony a hand and pull him up.

"How the hell did you find me? I... You're not supposed to be here."

Tony sighed. "Yeah, Doc, I know. I better get my ass out of town before the green guy–"

"No," Bruce interrupted. "What I mean is that you're supposed to be dead. It's all over the media. You..." The doctor frowned and swallowed. "I thought Loki managed to get rid of you."

Shedding the suit, it collapsed into a cube roughly the size of Tony's palm as he began dusting himself off and wiped his brow. "Yeah, well, Loki's an idiot. You know. 'King of Midgard' and all that crazy shit."

Bruce shrugged. "Point taken. But that doesn't explain why you're here. Or how you found me."

"Hell, all I know," Tony said, "is that I woke up after an _awesome_ night of drinking, and found this address in my pocket along with your cute little fake name." He pinched the other man's cheek. "And now I'm here... hoping you'll reconsider and come back to help us."

The doctor's expression changed, his hand moving to slap Tony's away. "No." He swallowed. "No, I can't go back there. I... I've killed too many people with this. With what I am."

Bruce pushed past him, their shoulders bumping as the doctor moved to unlock the door, shut it hard behind him.

"Bruce!"

"I'm not going back, Tony," came the muffled reply. "I can't. I'm sorry, but more people will die... if you allow another monster into the city."


	15. Stranger In A Strange Land

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 15: **Stranger In A Strange Land

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Ill-Lit Ships" by Blaqk Audio.

* * *

This was not home. It was not bright and happy the way he remembered, peaceful, full of life and laughter and love. There was only sorrow in this place, death, his own uncertainty. The very same things he had brought about with his own past mistakes, his foolishness and desire for vengeance. But he had been too full of himself to see it, to acknowledge that he was not yet ready for a throne, for a responsibility so great as a realm full of an entire people. He had been angry, hurt, fearful. The very same as his fool brother was now.

Not a word had he spoken amid the service, tears streaming down his cheeks as the smoke assaulted his eyes and throttled his throat. He had choked, turned away once they had set her adrift, not at all desiring to see her body burn. She would remain, he had decided, as she had been in his memories, his dreams. Bright and generous as the sun, full of, perhaps, more love and warmth than any other being in all the Nine Realms. And, in the days where nothing but a child's love filled his heart, she would call to them in the lingering dark of night, call them each by name, and sweep the two of them into her arms so as to whisk them safely off to bed.

It was distant, but he could hear them, their voices low and humming in his ears, now deafened by the sound of crackling flames. So dearly he wanted to run, tear through the palace halls and find her, perhaps wandering about his brother's chambers or gracing the spines of the books in the library with her kind touch. Somewhere, his mind told him. She must have still been somewhere. Living on in some intangible form that Thor could reach from his place in Asgard.

Where? Where could she have disappeared to?

So suddenly he left them, made for the window and jumped, swinging the hammer so as to lower himself gently into the gardens. Across the white stones the god paced, his mind wrought with guilt. It was his fault, he thought. He was the reason for his mother's death, for Asgard's decline, for his brother's betrayal. If only he had been more careful, guarded his emotions more strongly, kept his wits about him, he would not have been banished, Loki would not have lost himself, and they would all be here. Together. In peace. As a family.

But that, Thor knew, could never be.

The prince turned his gaze skyward, eyes again glazed over with the film of tears.

"What am I to do?" he murmured, watching as the stars began to blink back into existence. "Where do I turn? How am I to stop him... bring him home?"

There came no answer save the gentle rustling of wind through the trees, across the water. Thor grimaced, Mjolnir slipping from his grasp to strike the garden path with a heavy thud.

"What do I do?" he repeated again, now trembling and out of breath. "Mother, please..." he begged. "How am I to reach him? Please...! _Tell me!_"

**# - # - # - #**

Everything hurt, from the thin bones in his fingers down to the now screaming joints in his knees, all begging for rest, demanding that he cease this endless pacing and lie down to sleep. It was fear, if not sheer stubbornness, that kept him going, kept his mind reeling and seeking a thousand answers for every question that sought to arise within. Ten minutes was all it had taken to get him standing upright, staring into the washroom mirror and wondering why in the living hell the collar of his shirt was soaked. Only then did that voice echo again:

_"What have you done?!"_

It angered him, to be able to hear Thor's voice in his head so clearly. It was as though they were forced into standing beside one another in the same room, the Thunderer following Loki about the perimeter as he struggled to escape, put as much distance between the two of them as physically possible. But Thor just kept following, hounding him, forcing him to relive that godawful nightmare each time he dared to close his eyes. Even for a moment. Why, he couldn't very well blink without seeing his mother's withered form stained red and lying limp upon the sand.

Silvertongue hissed, the heels of his hands pressed hard against the softness of his eyes, twisting and grinding in an effort to wash the image away. He'd tried everything his weary mind could conjure, ranging from television marathons and heavy drinking to club touring and smoking cigarettes, but nothing had served as a suitable distraction.

If nothing else was certain, this was. He was stuck with the damned image in his mind, his mother's bleeding corpse, the end of the nightmare left only to his vivid imagination. Thor's hammer falling down upon him, no time for an explanation. Just the crash of thunder, the thrum of electricity through his bones, and then nothing. Just death.

"How is anyone supposed to sleep downstairs," her voice seemed to boom, "with you pacing up and down the length of this place like a madman?"

It was with a scowl that he turned, hands falling to his sides as Loki stared at her, feeling as though his eyes were sinking into his skull. The woman leered right back, her gaze narrowed in disapproval as she shut the double doors behind her, moving across the room in bare feet so as to seat herself, yet again, on the couch. She stretched out, the hem of her robe moving up the side of her leg, causing his brow to arch in muted approval.

Natalie gave an unbidden smile as if daring him to try and play such an unspoken and dangerous game with her.

Loki snorted, threw himself against the opposite end of the couch and sighed. "Can't sleep."

"Can't?" she parroted. "Or won't?"

There was a pause, his eyes not moving from their chosen point on the far wall before he replied, "Both."

"Count sheep," came the lame suggestion, accompanied by a humored smile. "I've heard it works."

Silvertongue scoffed, shook his head and shut his eyes. In a scant few seconds, he was home, the palace walls echoing with the distant sound of his name, falling as but a whisper upon his ears. One end trailing along the floor, the other held up with her hands, skin seeming to gleam in the early morning light as he lounged, watched, waited for her to return. Such a tease she was, driving him to the brink of madness even when her hands refused to offer up that comforting touch.

He strained, jaw clenched as she circled around behind the plush of the couch, bringing her end of the sheet to rest over him. A sharp tug, and it was all but tied about his throat, her lips grazing the sensitive outer shell of his ear, her breath upon his cheek as she spoke.

But, as with every other fantasy, Loki found that he could not hear her.


	16. Death To Tyrants

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 16: **Death To Tyrants

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Cat And Mouse" by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.

* * *

The noise had gone on for what felt like days now, and all Bruce found he could do was hide out in the shower so as to try and drown it out. On the doors, the windows, Tony would knock, shout, beg him to come back. It was unreasonable, the man would tell him, to hide out in this city like a coward while Loki lorded that iron fist of his over the rest of the planet. They were dying, he said, dropping like flies in an incinerator, horrifying humanity and furthering the crazed god's rule. He needed to think about Steve, about Fury, and Barton, whose death had come as quite a shock to the doctor. But still, he would stand in silence, allow the water to grow cold the longer he allowed it to wash over him.

For all the senseless death, the slaughter, he did feel guilty. But there was that fear in him, that which insisted he would only add to the body count were he to return. Here, in the safety of this building, this city where he was unknown as Bruce Banner, he could live in a state of relative peace, contain that which threatened to consume him from the inside out.

"You have to come back!" came the shout from outside the bathroom window. "You _have_ to! Do you even know how bad things are back there? Do you even _care_?!"

Of course he did. Bruce knew every day what was going on in Manhattan; couldn't help but to find out. He'd flip through a national newspaper or a gossip magazine every now and then when he walked down to the grocery store, stand there in stunned silence and only put it down when the snobby woman at the register asked if he was going to buy it or not. In his office, he'd occasionally dare to glimpse at the news websites, see just how many had died in the last month and why. No matter what reason the writers gave, Bruce found that it wasn't good enough, that they were only trying to appease an angry and vengeful god hellbent on furthering his own selfish ambitions. They were offering Loki false justifications, which he seemed perfectly content in using to his advantage. For, were there to be things going on of which the so-called king did not approve, the Chitauri spies would be seen in broadcasts, on the front pages of the papers, annihilating those that opposed the silver-tongued bastard's will.

And, were Bruce to be honest with the world, with himself, it broke his heart. Even so, he feared his condition would only add to the problem rather than help solve it. And one failure, he continued to remind himself, was more than enough.

**# - # - # - #**

It was to get away, if only for a time, find herself a means with which to grieve in peace. Her pace was slow, would have been calculated were it not for the singular thought within her head.

So long they had spent together, getting in and out of scrapes that could only have been his fault, her having to come to the rescue with logic and presentations and her bizarre power to, for a time, convince Tony to keep his mouth shut. Time and again she'd bailed him out, sat in her room and cried over his foolishness, wondered just how much longer he'd live with the reckless way he liked to party. Longer than she had thought, Pepper acknowledged, but not quite long enough to satisfy her tastes.

She remembered when he'd gone missing in the desert, lost for those three months that, to her, felt like years. Day after day she would pace about the house, taking to searching every room in hopes that he would just show up, smile and laugh at how gullible she was for walking into his game of hide-and-seek. And, each time she watched the sun fade behind the distant edge of the ocean, Pepper would sit herself down in the open living room and cry.

When he came home, when news had reached her that he had survived, she had cried the whole way to the landing strip, drying her eyes only when Happy had pulled the car in and she had seen Tony limping out of the plane with James holding him up.

But this time, she reminded herself, Tony wasn't coming home. They weren't in Monaco visiting the Grand Prix, and he wasn't going to swoop down amid the end of Ivan Vanko's assault at the Stark Expo to carry her off and confess his feelings. He was gone, stolen away just as easily as any other could have been, and there was no chance that he would return to comfort her with some lame excuse and an apology.

"He's not gone," she wanted to tell herself. "He'll come back. He _always_ comes back."

That was before, came the reminder. Before the hell from above descended, before the Avengers, before they were all forced under the relentless heel of a violent god. As a man, Tony could survive the wit and will of men, outsmart and outmatch them with both mind and talent, make them appear as but wailing children in comparison. But this was no man that they faced. Here, they fought to outmatch the devil.

It struck her hard, coming upon the dampened patch of earth that, had it not been destroyed, would have housed his body.

Pepper held her breath. It didn't matter how long he had been gone. The shock was sure to linger.

"Bradley misses you," she finally whispered, choking back a sob. "Gwen doesn't know what's happened... but she looks for you..."

With eyes squeezed shut, Pepper let her head fall, hands come up to cover her face as she wept, shoulders shaking as though she were a tree caught up in a hurricane. How unfair it all was, for truth and right to lose against such evil.

A hand touched her, the familiar grip enough to bring the woman to turn, stare into his stony face as he stared out across the river to the city.

"Rhodey..."

She grabbed him, felt his arms wrap themselves around her quivering form the way that Tony had always done. And while it was meant to be a gesture of comfort, it only served to draw out more tears.

The officer said nothing, did not offer up words with which to soothe her ache. He simply stood there with her, holding Pepper as she buried her face into his jacket and cried.

"Tell me he's not gone," came the gentle plea. "Tell me he'll be here when I wake..."

"Not that soon," James finally replied. "But soon enough."

He meant death, the woman thought with a whimper. She would see Tony when she, too, succumbed to death, allowed that cold embrace to sweep her away as well.

It was then, Pepper decided, that it could not come quickly enough.

"Watch the skies. I know people don't believe," he said, "but sometimes, even the angels without wings can find a way to fly."

**# - # - # - #**

"Allow me to return to Midgard with them." His head was bowed, blond hair falling about his face as Thor kept his eyes locked to the floor. "Our numbers continue to dwindle, and, in time, we will be as nothing. In this state, I fear we cannot fight."

Such fear he held, all bound together as though with a cord, a heavy burden created and carried within his chest. There came no coherent thoughts of positivity, everything within him reeking with the stench of uncertainty and discontentment. The prince did not think for a moment that the Allfather would grant his request, see fit to spare him this pain. So conditioned with fear was he, that anything else, namely the existence of a peaceful world, was entirely foreign to him.

A hand, and Thor felt himself clench, arms moving closer to his sides so as to shield himself from the touch, send it recoiling with the shock of having brought only fear. But it did not vanish, grew stronger, warmer, the other coming to lift his chin as though he were but a boy again, seeking his father's forgiveness as his lip quivered and his eyes filled up with tears.

It was a kind face that he stared into, that one old eye seeming to ache itself as a smile broke out across the weathered face, the hand moving to clasp the Thunderer's other shoulder. A gentle shake and a nod, Thor's spirit soaring through the ceiling and across the cosmos with the words spoken by his father.

"Take them and go," was the reply. "And upon the day that you shall need them, Asgard and her armies await your command."

He could not think, feel, only move as his body was rushed down the corridor, having passed by the doors of his father's study without his mind having realized it. His feet could not have touched the floor in his excitement, the elation having lifted him into the air and through the palace to the outdoors where they awaited his return, their eyes rising to meet him as Thor hurried down the steps, very nearly tripping as he reached the level ground.

Together, the four of them surrounded him, all wearing eager expressions as though he had risen from the waters of the lake with a glittering gold coin. Fandral nudged him in earnest, his poorly veiled excitement shining through as he all grabbed the Son of Odin in a fierce embrace.

"He said yes!" the warrior cried, his feet leaving the ground as he hopped up onto the Valiant's back and cheered. "And now, we go to Midgard!"

The Lady Sif smiled and nodded her approval, Hogun returning to his usually stoic mannerisms as he sought to remove the shouting blond from the hulking warrior's form. Thor said not a word, offering his own smile as a sign of reassurance as he grasped the hammer a moment.

It was a terrible decision to have to make, Thor acknowledged with a heavy breath. To choose a foreign people, his friends, over the man he had always known to be his brother, his family. Terrible, but necessary.

"We will go." His voice, forced, stood firm. Though it was certain that they suspected him, he could not allow his friends to successfully ascertain the fact that the God of Thunder was questioning his own actions. Not now, this far into the fray. "We will do as as we have always done; fight for whom we have always fought: Those who cannot find means with which to secure their own peace and freedom..."

The warriors nodded, drawing their cloaks about them once the horses had been mounted and the snow began to fall upon them. With a deft twist of his ankle, the beast beneath him was urged forward, surging across the grounds of the palace and into the city, heart pounding in Thor's chest as he swore to himself.

"Be warned, Brother. For you shall return to us... even if I am to drag you back from Hel."


	17. Passive Manipulation

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 17: **Passive Manipulation

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Soldier's Orders (Alex Theme)" from Silent Hill: Homecoming, composed by Akira Yamaoka.

* * *

Across the table, his eyes wandered, following the erratic motions of the characters on the television screen as Bradley let out a bizarre battle cry, jamming his little fingers into the buttons of the game controller. The man said not a word, had not even touched the glass of water he'd asked for a scant fifteen minutes before. He merely sat straight in the chair, drumming his fingers upon the flat surface of the table, occasionally reaching up to tug on the knot of his tie as he swallowed.

"Are you going to answer me?"

She had asked him three times now for the information, and was beginning to lose her patience. The last thing Jane wanted to do was yell at him, especially not while Gwen was taking her scheduled nap, but the longer Hirsch kept her waiting, the more strained the eager young scientist became. It was becoming unbearable, waiting to have her questions answered, her fears brushed under the rug as but dust.

Again she opened her mouth to ask the question, the agent's hand shooting towards the glass and downing the fluid as though it were the breath of life and he were drowning. Jane sighed in mock defeat, leaning back in her own chair and covering her eyes with a hand. Were Thor here, she thought, it would not be quite so difficult to obtain the information she desired.

"I asked Jarvis to do a trace on Erik's cell." The words tumbled out of her mouth, startling Jane every bit as much as the blue-eyed agent who was now gracing her with his full attention. That was better, but still not what she wanted. "His last known location was on the twenty-sixth, at a hotel and casino in New Mexico. And I haven't heard from him in three weeks."

The chair legs scraped against the floor as Jane stood, hands laid flat upon the table as she attempted to stare him down. Clint had been quite proficient at this, she recalled sadly, having been able to bear down on a man even when he was thoroughly intoxicated and worn out from a day's work. But she hadn't had but an ounce of the same training as the archer, let alone enough time to put such a technique to the test in the field. Nonetheless, Jane imagined that she could probably make this work all the same.

"He's like my father." The words were low, her head hanging so as to match the tone, body shaking as she lowered herself back into the seat. "Erik gave me a chance when no one else would. When they couldn't be bothered to take the time to answer the questions of a curious school girl. If something's happened to him..." Jane stiffened, teeth held tightly together. "I don't know what I'll do..."

The agent sighed heavily, pushing himself out of the chair and setting about adjusting his now crooked tie. His cool blue eyes spared the woman but a passing glance as he walked about the length of the table, one hand slipping out of his coat pocket to toss Jane a half-empty pack of Pall Mall cigarettes as he made for the door. With his back to her, Hirsch cleared his throat and retrieved his coat from the closet.

"I think," came the steady words, "you may feel quite a bit better after you step out for a cigarette, Ms. Foster."

A moment was too long to spare, Jane's fingers closing around the pack half wrapped in cellophane, drawing out one of the tobacco filled tubes to find a thin gold thread sticking out the butt end. Grasping it between two fingers, Jane gave it a quick tug, watched as the cigarette began to unravel as though it were made of cloth. Tobacco spilled out onto the table, its scent wafting up and into her nose as the pulling of the thread unveiled a rolled bit of paper in the middle of the tube. The mess atop the glass forgotten, the paper was removed and opened, the familiar scrawl of handwriting a welcome sight as Jane smiled and began to read.

_Jane,_

_The last I heard from Erik was the day of my flight. He called from a payphone somewhere in the city, and hasn't been heard from since. I managed to get out of town with the help of former SHIELD agents. They tell me that Erik is probably dead._

_Don't call. I have ditched my phone. I will be in New York on the third. Meet me at Grand Central Station if you can at noon. Stay safe._

_- Darcy_

It crumbled between her fingers. Her heart pounded, conflicted, thrilled that Darcy would be able to join them on the morrow, but stunned by the news of her mentor's supposed demise. It seemed to be little more than a bad dream, one that she could not find the strength to wake from. But their lives had been full of nothing but nightmares these past five years, and showed no sign of stemming the flow anytime soon.

Tucking the note into a pocket, the mess on the table was swept into the agent's now empty cup and left to drain out with the water in the sink.

**# - # - # - #**

Her air was furious, had been from the moment she had been summoned, told to scale the seemingly innumerable flights of stairs because "his Lordship" had seen fit to put the elevator out of commission when it had awakened him with its incessant ringing. Though long journeys by foot were not a new development, the assassin had not appreciated being forced to play the role of his handler, regardless of the fact that the entire infiltration operation had been her idea. The bastard, she thought, exploited the people under him, those who would have leapt off the bridge for a chance to kiss ass and serve him. And she, Natasha had come to find, was no exception to that fact. Why, if nothing else, he would harangue her more than any other, for it was she who was to come running if he so much as sneezed.

The door was shoved open with a ridiculous amount of force, causing it to slam against the wall and turn his head as he stood, as per usual, by the window. He had a terrible obsession with himself, she thought, with this city that he believed to be his possession, his capital, and it made her sick.

"Taking our time, are we?"

A lip curled in scornful response, hands folded across her chest as she stood at the center of the room, refusing to move as Loki sought to usher her to his side with a tilt of his head. He would not be given the satisfaction of seeing her bend to his will, follower or not.

"It's your own fault," a vicious snap, "for losing your temper like a spoiled brat. Have you any idea how long it takes to trek up all those damned stairs?"

"No," was the equally curt reply. "I haven't the patience for it."

Natasha drew the inside of one cheek into her mouth and bit down on it, brows curving to meet atop the bridge of her nose. "And I haven't the patience for your _bullshit._ What do you want? In case you've already forgotten, I'm very busy cleaning up your most recent mess in Times Square."

He'd slaughtered them, and she had watched, unable to do a damned thing. A conspiracy group, very much like theirs, meeting each evening to discuss how to assassinate the king and rid the world of his throne. And, as with all the others, they'd been found out by his little spies, caught and forced out into the snow as they convened upon their meeting place, only to suffer the injustice of being murdered. She would not forget the unbridled glee dancing about in his cold eyes as he looked on, the images projected upon the television screen, appearing to her to be thirsting after the life blood of the planet as they died. Brutality if she'd ever seen it, watching flesh melt away from the Chitauri agents, hearing the screams of agony as their sharp hands tore into the tenderness of mortality.

So far gone was he, that the assassin could not fathom as to why Thor would still seek to save a monster like him.

As if having seen those thoughts through her wide green eyes, he turned fully to face her, a half-smile on his face, serpent's tongue darting out to lick his lips in satisfaction. Natasha recoiled, stepped back on her heel, ankle twisting as, almost by magic, the material snapped, causing her to stumble and fall.

His arms about her waist were frightening, her mind spinning as she flew across the room, felt the harsh impact of the wall as it sank into itself so as to allow room for her shape. Any anger she had held within dissipated into the air like vapor, his hand crushing itself against her chest as though he sought to turn her to dust from the inside out.

"Playing hunter, are we?" Loki sneered, and the long fingers curled into her wrist, her other arm pinned behind her back..

Natasha gaped, seeking even the smallest breath to grand her respite from the ache and burn in her lungs. Though it was in vain, she moved, not managing to shift his body even a fraction of an inch. He was solid against her. Tall, lean, but as immovable as hardened stone. And he would not be letting her go.

"What kind of talk is that?" Her voice came out a hiss, wasting precious breath. She could not be found out here. Not now. She still hadn't punished him for his crimes, hadn't seen him collapse in his own blood and writhe beneath her. "You think this is all a game? Do you want to see just how many innocents it takes to paint the whole world red?"

"A game." Loki laughed, rage flickering about in his bright eyes, and it was as though Natasha could see the temperature rising, the thermometer about to break. "You're the one playing games, darling. But there is no time for such foolishness. This is _war_." He leaned in, her wrist creaking as though it were about to snap. "Or don't you remember... _Natalia?_"

God, how she hated him; hated the sound of her name rolling off the tip of that lying tongue of his. But Natasha could see he savored it, feasted on every lasting little insecurity cast upon her, every dream she shared with but the swing of her hips, the way her hands were placed upon the top of a table. Without knowing, she had betrayed herself with every spoken word, every breath. In her haste to taste the fruits of revenge, of satisfaction, she had given herself away, all but painted her name across her forehead in neon tones.

Her fist clenched, a sharp pain shooting up her arm. "Don't say my name," was Natasha's sharp reply. "You don't have the right."

"Don't I?" Silvertongue laughed, and Natasha grimaced as he leaned in, breath ghosting about her neck. "Have you forgotten so soon, Natasha? I _rule_ this world." A pause and a smile. _"I own you."_

"You said I was the hunter." She drew a deep breath. "I suppose that makes you the monster, then."

The skin of her right arm scraped against the splintering material of the wall, drawing blood as she raised her hand to deliver a blow to the side of his head, one knee rising as her leg extended, her broken shoe booting Loki in the chest. He grunted and staggered back, seemingly taken by surprise, and Natasha jumped, catching his neck between her ankles and giving a fierce twist, a loud crack breaking through the room as she sent him to the floor.

Any other man would have been left incapacitated by the assault, but Natasha braced herself, kicking off her heels as Loki groaned, knowing well that he'd be back on his feet within minutes.

A flash of blue upon his skin, and red in his eyes, matching the tone of the blood that graced his lip. The assassin blinked, swearing to herself that it was real as Loki groaned, "I don't know what I am. I never have."

A beat passed between them, Natasha's lip curling upwards in a smile.

_"Liar,"_ she spat. "Stop trying to blind me with pity. You know exactly what you are. A parasite. _A monster._"

The trickster prince returned the smirk, tongue flicking out to remove the red stain from his pale skin. "I know," he said slowly, "that I _rule_ this world. That I am _king_. And I know..." His form vanished from the floor, appearing before her with his head held high, hand fastening itself to her throat. "That I will take Asgard by _storm_, bring Odin to his _knees_, and make an example of you and your friends."

"Sorry," Natasha choked out a laugh. "I forgot you don't like being reminded of what you really are."

The room set to spinning, feet flying high overhead as he tossed her, like a doll, towards the door. Tightening her core, Natasha twisted, drew her gun from its place beneath her skirt, and fired, skidding across the floor as the bullets were swatted away like flies.

"You–!"

"I can pick you apart with but words," the assassin leered, "and I will kill you. For every soul you've stolen away, all the blood you've spilled, I will kill you."

Loki stared at her, arms spread wide as though to welcome the threat, intrigue burning in his blue eyes. "And what of your friends? Coulson. Fury. The Captain. Stark. Your beloved Agent Barton. Will you not avenge them as well?"

"_All_ the blood you've spilled, you bastard," Natasha snapped, and cast her weapon to the floor. "Your ledger is gushing, Loki. It's dripping red. Let's see just how long it all takes to catch up to you."


	18. Calling All Skeletons

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 18: **Calling All Skeletons

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "Misery Loves My Company" by Three Days Grace.

* * *

A beautiful rush of color as he fell, arm outstretched, fingers taut about the hammer's ribbed grip, its heavy head seeming to pull them down all the faster as a hand gripped his free one, curling in and squeezing, a white dot of light appearing at the end of the seemingly endless spiral. The journey had never seemed quite so long as this before, for where it was the God of Thunder headed, there was no turning back. All in all, it came down to but one horrid truth, uncertainty coming to a boil deep beneath his skin. It was kill or be killed, he feared, and there was to be no way around it. There would be no words, no pleas, no time with which to play games or plan ahead. Earth was now a war zone, a battlefield, lorded over and tormented by the one man that, in his wildest dreams as a boy, Thor never would have expected to face.

Together, the group narrowly slid through the end of the pathway, a bright light flashing in all their eyes as, with a gust of forced wind from behind, they were thrown through the planet's atmosphere, a dull boom echoing across the water as the Thunderer pushed on, stretched his arm further and deposited the five of them into the river as people on the bridge began to gather.

Thor surfaced, pushing wet golden hair from his eyes before fastening Mjolnir to his hip again and making his way towards the nearest bank. Had subtlety been part of the equation, he would have sought to uncover some other way to reach Midgard rather than traveling by way of the Bifrost, what with its obvious signs of arrival. But his brother was no fool, he reminded himself, the master of deception, and as such, the way by which the band of warriors had come seemed to have been the best choice. There was no need to hide, for as with Tony's untimely death, it was certain that Loki knew the lot of them were to be propelled back into action.

Heaving himself up onto dry land, Thor shook his head like a dog, depositing himself onto the grass until such a time as the others joined him.

Fandral sighed loudly, stepping uncertainly up into the greenery with a foul expression on his handsome face, remarking that he would have rather fallen through a series of trees than into a mess such as the Hudson. Filthy water, he said, not the least bit like those back home in Asgard which were pristine and glittering as but crystal. With a roll of her eyes, Sif insisted he pipe down and spend his time picking muck and grime out of the fur ruff on his cloak.

A hand grasped Thor's ankle then, Volstagg's head appearing just above the water, his thick red beard sopping wet and lacking its usual charming curl. Leaning forward, the God of Thunder took the other man by his forearms, digging his heels into the dirt as he pulled, managing, after some minutes of struggle, to pull the warrior up and onto the bank where the two lay on their backs, sucking in heavy breaths.

"So this is what a Midgardian city looks like," Hogun observed, not seeming to be the least bit perturbed by the fact that he was still soaking wet and dripping. "Interesting."

"Brilliant," Thor told him, a warm smile coming to his face. "Though the people are rather unlike ours, they are a truly fascinating sort. Many of them perform, write music, grant others joy through film and–"

"Film?" Sif quirked a brow at him. "What is that?"

His head dipped in a nod. "It is very much like live acting during festivals and parties, but the mortals use their technologies to create the magic upon the screen."

Fandral stared at him, dumbfounded, having given up on cleaning out the fur of his cloak. "What manner of technology? And what is a screen?"

A beat passed, and Thor shook his head, waving a hand so as to dismiss the conversation. He had forgotten, in all his time upon this planet, that his friends in Asgard knew relatively little of the goings-on of mortal life, and had thus neglected to recall that it would take a great deal of time and knowledge, both of which he did not have, to explain all of Midgard's workings.

He stood, Mjolnir bumping against his leg as he clapped a still gasping Volstagg on the shoulder. "There." Thor pointed to a tall building in the distance. "That is what we used to call Stark Tower. Before my brother took over, that is."

A heavy air fell about the group, Sif's lip curling in disgust at the mere mention of Loki.

"What of your quarters, Thor?" the Valiant quipped, wringing out his beard. "I imagine it must be something like a palace itself."

Thor shook his head, smiled a bit sheepishly. "It is not so grand as the dwellings of Asgard, but it is home." He perked up at the mention of the Avengers' base, recalling that he had not yet made specific mention of Jane, let alone the others. "You must meet my comrades. They are few in number, but they are strong. As fierce and determined as any warrior in the armies of our realm."

Sif nodded. "We look forward to meeting them. They must be quite something, for you to speak so highly of them."

"And Jane."

The woman's expression changed. "Who?"

"Jane." Her name was sweet upon his tongue. "She is my..." Thor paused, not certain just what it was he would call her. In this world, she would have been spoken of as his girlfriend, and, in Asgard, more than likely his lover. The first, he thought, sounded silly. The second, a bit degrading in his opinion. The god swallowed. "Jane is my partner, Sif, and a wonderful woman."

The warrior hesitated, drawing the eyes of the others until she lifted her own to meet Thor's again.

"Well, then," she replied slowly, "I look forward to making her acquaintance."

Thor sighed inwardly, hurrying up the slight incline of the bank so as to lead the others on towards their destination. It seemed that making mention of his involvement with Jane had been a rather large mistake.

**# - # - # - #**

Bits of glass on the floor, along with red wine, crunched beneath the heels of his shoes, and he could still see her, if only as a phantom, ghosting about the room. From the point she'd kicked open the door, down to the second she'd walked right back through it. And her words, still ringing in his head, were what had pushed him this time. Sent him right over the edge in a fit of anger.

Loki had smashed the bottle just as soon as he'd thought to grasp it, the reaction stemming from the irrepressible shudder that he found to be continually wracking his bones. He should have killed her, should have known that it would be she who would seek to infiltrate his kingdom, seek to drag him down and out of the game. It was unacceptable, he grimaced, thrusting his hand against the outline of her body in the wall. His fingers closed around nothing more than bits of wire, plaster, and stone, dragging it out of the place where her throat should have been, and scattering the mess across the floor. Dust fluttered about in the air, and he breathed it in, tasting only blood.

She had been fun before, that woman, one of only a few who had managed to pull the wool over the master of deception. It had intrigued him, offered a unique challenge in that he could find interest in testing the mettle of a mortal woman, see just how clever she was beneath that pretty face and mess of red hair. Any other man would have believe the Black Widow to be little more than a stage show name, a role she played rather than the truth of her character. They would have seen her as but a doll, a thing with which to be lulled into false security and pounced upon when both bodies were drowning in liquor. But he knew better. Loki knew that beneath those emerald eyes and full lips, Natasha was violent, bloodthirsty, made of wit and hatred and wire, not at all the sort of woman destined for whispering sweet nothings into the night.

That reminded him, the pang shooting through his skull, forcing him to his knees. The shards cut through the dark fabric of his trousers, hands thrown over his ears as fingers curled hard into his dark hair. First he was to be knocked down by a human woman, and now this. Her figure, ghosting across the expanse of the room, even slipping through the glass of the wide windows to walk on wind and cloud alike. It was a torture that could not be administered by an outsider, drawn only from within when Loki felt he was beginning to stumble.

And, seeing how she had appeared more and more frequently over past weeks, he was sure to be losing his grip.

Falling back, Loki paid no mind to the stain of the wine that would settle into the fabric of his clothes, eyes blank and staring up at the dark ceiling.

Another stood above him, her gaze not seeking to tease, but comfort. Kneeling over him, she stretched out a hand, fingers pulling through the mass of black hair, her words low but audible, a tune carried past her lips as she began to sing.

He did not dare move, refusing to even breathe for fear of breaking the illusion. But she smiled, the song slowly dying out.

_"Why stay here?"_ came her inquiry. _"Why not come home?"_

"You can't understand," Silvertongue murmured, averting his gaze. He couldn't stand to speak such words of malice and look into her eyes. "Odin has to pay for his lies..."

_"What of your brother, his friends? What have they done to suffer?"_

"Thor is _not_ my brother!" Loki barked stubbornly. "He is a fool; always standing in my way! He led them against me, sought to take that which should have been mine." He pushed himself up, moving to press his hands hard against the window with a sneer. "All of it," he growled, "is mine. Midgard, Asgard, Jotunheim... The whole of the Nine Realms was in the palm of my hand, and he had to–!"

Her reflection appeared in the glass, that same soft smile upon her lips as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

_"No. It was never yours to begin with."_

Just as in the dreams, her color began to vanish, skin turning a sickeningly pale blue as her shape began to shrink, giving way to the stains of blood.

"Shut _up!_ Stop lying to me!"

With the glass crunching beneath his weight, Loki spun on his heel, a silver blade clenched between his fingers as he swung, cut through nothing but the empty air behind him. His elbow slammed hard into the window, causing it to crack and shatter, rain down upon his head.

It was justified, he decided, breathing hard. _Everything_ was justified. It _was_ his. Always had been. The fact of the matter was, Odin had betrayed him. Thor had stolen the throne. The Avengers had defied him. They needed to be taught a lesson, all of them. Shown just how wrong they were to transgress against him, a god and king. Suffering would be their mentor, death the price they paid.

**# - # - # - #**

They had frightened her, marching through the door the way they had. Not simply due to their outfits, which were not quite so strange given how long a time she'd spent with Thor, but as she had been seated on the couch in little more than a t-shirt and a pair of colorful underwear when they'd arrived, Jane had only been able to scream and try to hide her nearly naked backside behind a cushion. Of course, the lot of them had started laughing at her flustered behavior, Thor crossing the room to collect and offer her a blanket.

"I take it these are your friends from Asgard," she squeaked, eyeing the warriors one by one. A slight dip of her head, and Jane's hands tightened around the blanket. "Nice to meet you."

The three men nodded in return, rattling off their names and their official title while the woman beside them looked her over carefully. Almost with disdain. Jane offered her a smile, moving to take her hand the way she had with the others, noting the way that it was hesitantly accepted with a leering gaze.

"Pleasure," Sif said stiffly, and then looked to Thor. "Where are the rest of them? Tell me it is not just the two of you combating this madness."

As if on cue, Bradley came rushing down the hall, squealing with joy as Maria played at chasing him, Pepper following behind the noisy pair with Gwen held in her arms. The boy made one lap about the kitchen, diving under the table and chairs one minute before crawling out and finding himself face-to-face with the newcomers. He stared, looking Volstagg up and down with a wide-eyed expression and pursed lips, almost the face of fear. But when the Valiant bent down to sweep the child up and into the air, Bradley broke out into a grin.

"Heroes!" he cheered, and Jane looked to see his mother smile. "Mama, Uncle Thor brought home heroes!"

A hand on her shoulder, Thor laughed, went about introducing the warriors to the remainder of the house tenants. The help was more than welcome, Jane thought with a slight frown, but she could not find the means with which to shake the bad news from her head. It had come early, before sunrise, while she had been scouring the channels for a bit of light viewing out of an inability to remain asleep. A message on her phone, from Darcy, whom she had not yet gone to meet, that she had received confirmation of Erik's death from the undercover SHIELD agents. It had broken her heart, made her wonder why Maria, now in charge of the remnants of the organization by default, hadn't informed her of the fact that both Erik and Darcy were being shadowed by lingering agents.

She leaned against Thor, eyes cast to the floor as he moved, ushered her to the softness of the couch before questioning her dizzily about what was wrong.

Her mouth opened slowly, black tiles still the focus of her vision, the thought lost for the moment as the door again pinged and opened, Natasha storming in with a familiar girl in tow.

"Darcy?"

"Jane!"

The bespectacled girl rushed across the room, all but tackling Jane into the wall as she jumped and embraced her, fogging up her glasses with the tears.

Natasha swore under her breath, drawing Thor to her side.

"What is the matter?"

Jane flinched, the woman's finger jabbing the god in the chest as she peered over her friend's shoulder. "Your bastard brother, that's what!" Her hair was a mess and sticking to her forehead, clothing slightly worn and wrinkled, a bloody scrape peering across the room from upon Natasha's white skin. "I found nothing," she spat. "Nothing but what little we already know. Loki means to start a war with Asgard, drain the life from this planet, and slaughter more innocent people!" She shoved him, though Thor did not move even slightly. "What say you to that?! This is _your fault_ for coming here int he first place!"

The sound of the ensuing argument died out, Darcy's headphones fitting into Jane's ears with the sound of music, her friend nodding towards the hallway as if asking for a place where they could talk in peace. Jane nodded, leading the other by the hand to her room, slamming the door and dropping the blanket from her waist once the both of them were safely inside.

"No pants?" Darcy asked with a mischievous smile. Jane discarded the iPod onto her dresser. "I guess you guys have been busy, huh?"

"I thought we were supposed to meet at noon."

A shrug. "Yeah, well... It's a big city Jane. I've never been here. I..." The hat came off, dropped onto the bedspread with a sheepish grin. "I got separated from my secret escort, or whatever, and got lost. Natasha found me on her way back here."

Jane sighed, drawing a pair of shorts from one of the drawers. Was that what had happened to Erik? Had he been staying with an escort at the hotel and casino when he'd been discovered? How far had he managed to run before they caught him? Had he suffered?

"You need to be more careful," Jane muttered with a shake of her head. She looked Darcy in the eye. "Did you even stop to think that that's why Erik didn't make it here? Because he was stupid enough to get himself lost?! Loki's got eyes _everywhere_! He's _looking_ for us! He's already killed Tony! God, Darcy, you could have been _killed_!"

Her legs were filled with pins and needles, the sensation of the carpet strange against her tingling skin as she dropped, hunched over and began to cry. It was horrifying to think that she might not see even one of her friends again. That the next time one of them walked out that door into the outside world would be the last. Just like Tony.

She didn't want that, Jane decided. She didn't want all the death that surrounded them.

Darcy's arms wrapped around her, face turning red again as she began to cry, too, whispering apologies over and over again. She hadn't meant to lose them. She hadn't even known what they looked like. She'd just taken a wrong turn outside the airport and ended up on some unknown street, lost and alone near the former Stark Tower. An accident, she kept saying. But an accident was just what had happened to all the rest of them. Coulson. Steve. Fury. Clint. Tony. The wrong place at the wrong time. Every one.

Jane had had enough of accidents, enough of crying over makeshift graves.

"No more... No more..."


	19. Angels In Disguise

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 19: **Angels In Disguise

**A/N: **I didn't plan it out this way, but there are things in this chapter that, I feel, coincide deeply with the memory of this day in history. As such, I would like to dedicate this chapter to all the people who, on this day twelve years ago, were so deeply affected by the incident in New York City. It breaks my heart to know that so many lives were lost, and that a great number of people must live each and every day knowing that their lives were changed forever. I will never forget that day, let alone the shock that I felt watching the news broadcast as a child. It is horrifying. May God comfort those in mourning and preserve the souls that were lost.

The recommended tune for this chapter is "Van Nuys" by Sixx AM.

* * *

By God, he was persistent. An annoying trait that defined the likes of Tony Stark, but admirable nonetheless. Bruce had seen him from the top story window for the past two nights, passed out on the sidewalk across the street, not bothered by a soul in the world. This was a dead neighborhood, after all, but Bruce couldn't help wishing that someone might just stumble across the Iron Man, end up chasing him away. But, even if that were to happen, he knew Tony far too well. He'd just come running back, shouting through the windows that he needed to give a damn about the city they'd failed.

He did care. Couldn't help but to care. It was his own fears holding him back. The idea that, were he to return to New York, he'd kill more people than he'd save. It was enough, or so Bruce had thought, to keep him here, isolated.

The third morning, still a ways off from sunrise, and there Tony was yet again, flat on his back in the suit, probably snoring up a storm inside that helmet, now probably rank with nights of foul breath. Bruce smirked and shook his head, turned back to the bag he'd spent the whole night packing, and left it to sit on the bed. Down a few flights of stairs, into the wide front room of the first floor, and out the door, the sleeping man flinching as he approached.

Bruce nudged him, gave him a light kick with the toe of his shoe, hands shoved deep into the pockets of the pants that must have been at least two sizes too big now. The Iron Man stirred, the eyes lighting up and mask coming away as Tony awakened, dazedly staring up at him with a quiet moan.

"What... What time is it...?"

"Three-fifty," Bruce told him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Tony would be beaming once he woke up a bit more, heard all that he had to say. "Look, Tony. I've been thinking... about a lot of things. And, um, I think I've finally made up my mind." The doctor sighed, took a seat beside the other, and stared upward. "It's not that I don't care. I'm just... afraid to, I guess. I mean, we put our all into that fight, and we still lost. It kind of gets a man to thinking whether or not he's really right for the job."

"Been there, big guy," came the weary reply, a hand touching Bruce's shoulder as the other man struggled to sit up. He felt so small in comparison. "It gets to all of us. The uncertainty. But if I've learned anything, it's that we can't just," a sigh, "go through life thinking only of ourselves. And, let me tell you, it's damn hard to teach an old dog like me any new tricks, and I still learned that one." Tony nudged him. "So can you."

Pushing his back against the wall, Bruce stood up, taking the Iron Man by the arm and pulling him to his feet as well before turning away to trudge back towards the front door.

"Better get something to eat," the doctor said, turning the knob. "Maybe find something with which to charge up that suit, too, before we head out." He could feel Tony's eyes on him, and looked back without a hitch, a smile on his face. "You like Poptarts?"

**# - # - # - #**

"I don't see how this concerns me, sir."

God, did that leave a sour taste on his tongue. He wanted to run, throw himself over the toilet bowl and just vomit. He was a soldier, had taken an oath to protect those who needed protecting, risk his all for those in need of saving, of help. But that respect, that dedication to truth and honor and morality had declined before his very eyes, leaving him, and others like him, trapped and bound to the seat that he had once taken great pride in as a member of his nation's armed forces. And now, he found it disgusting, reprehensible, that James now was stuck in a position where his duty was not to the citizens of his country, but to the tyrant ruling over it.

He was cast a venomous glare over the top of the book, the sort that would have made a lesser man's blood run cold. He'd seen it happen. Seen them run, grovel, seek forgiveness from a being that, few knew, had none to offer.

"You are a soldier, Colonel Rhodes." His naming coming off the god's tongue sounded incredibly perverse. Wicked. "Your primary duty is to home and country. And, in this instance, the ruling hand of your government, yes?"

It was with hesitation and bile that James nodded. "Yes."

The soldier watched Loki shrug, place the thin length of black ribbon between the pristine pages of the book before setting it down on the table. He leaned forward, legs crossed at the knee, and almost smiled. The bastard had some sort of angle, James could feel it.

"Then you must understand my dilemma, Colonel." The god stood. "As the head of this nation, you must realize that I cannot take too kindly to traitors."

James set his jaw tightly, felt himself begin to bend and stiffen under the accusation that lay within that piercing stare. This was not what he had signed up for, he thought, uniform abruptly feeling as though it were little more than a cage. He had not gone and fought for his country, for his people, just to end up trapped under this man's heel. He had not dedicated himself, sometimes months at a time, to watch all his efforts, all those innocent lives, spiral down the drain, wasted. It had been to help those who could not help themselves, protect the people who needed aid from the outside, the people who could not be helped by their own homelands, the people around the world who had sought freedom. But that was over and done with now, the colonel thought with a deep scowl, and there was no hope for the return. Not until the so-called new world order was knocked down a few pegs.

His gut churned, eyes shutting a moment as James sought to collect himself. Were he not believable in his attempted falsehoods, there was to be no telling what might befall him.

"You have been feeding information to Mr. Stark, haven't you?"

James flinched, his facade crumbling to his feet, eyes snapping open. He'd been careful. More than careful. He hadn't told Tony a thing, had greatly limited his contact with the man for a good many months, refusing to have anything to do with him or the rest of the team unless it were a matter of utmost urgency. There had been no phone calls, no emails, nothing that could have been traced from inside the empire of this man. Nothing. Just a few choice words at a party, and a note tucked into Tony's suit.

But it seemed that even precautions of that measure hadn't been quite enough to fool the gaze of the lingering Chitauri spies.

"He was spotted in Houston the night before last with Dr. Banner." Loki paced, the look of amusement having gone up in smoke. "You've saved me a great deal of trouble, Colonel Rhodes, and for that I must thank you. Why, without your interference, we'd have spent some time seeking out the good doctor."

"So what now?" James shot back, all propriety lost. He had no patience for this game anymore. "You wipe them out? You've already killed thousands, hell, maybe even millions! And it's still not enough for you!" The soldier shook his head. "It's the only thing that gets you by, isn't it? The only think that makes you feel like you're not... inferior to your brother."

The room turned upside down, the floor rising up to meet him with a sickening crack, his back dropped hard against the black tile. James gaped, wincing as he tried to draw breath, felt a crushing grip clamp down upon his throat as though to push him straight through.

"You didn't let me finish, Colonel," came the hiss in his ear. James could almost see Loki grinding his teeth together. "I have a proposition for you, and one that I strongly encourage you to consider. You see, I can't have Stark and that little band of misfits running about, mucking up my plans. So your job is to take them out. Put the Iron Patriot to good use, as it were."

James swallowed as best he could, tried to shake his head. "No," he choked.

He couldn't do it, wouldn't.

"Let me make this perfectly clear for you," the god leered. "Either accept my most gracious offer and eliminate them yourself, or push me to dirty my hands myself. And believe me, Colonel. Should I have to step in, I will not be quite so kind as this. Is that what you want? To watch your friends die by my hand? See Stark's precious little children cry as their father suffers?"

His chest ached, eyes stinging with the thought. It couldn't happen. He couldn't betray his friends, leave them to suffer at the hands of this monster. But, the alternative was just as hideous a choice.

"I... I'll do it..." he breathed, heart pounding. "Just... don't touch them...

"If nothing else, Colonel Rhodes, I am a man of my word." Another lie, and they both knew it. "Now, take a few days to prepare yourself. I want it to be a swift and decisive sentence, but there is little point unless they offer you their full trust. And," Loki added,_"if you forget, know that I will not."_

James coughed, rolled onto his side, hands flat on the floor as the god vanished, leaving him stunned and alone. His chest ached, felt as though it were about to split open with shock, uncertainty, the realization of just what it was he'd agreed to do. Eyes still burning, the soldier pushed himself to his knees, clasped his hands in earnest the way his mother had taught him to do when he was still just a boy.

"Dear God," he whispered. "Not this. _Anything_ but this. Please..."

**# - # - # - #**

They'd made a bet once Tony had actually awakened a bit more, both agreeing that the loser of their little race would fork over a hundred bucks when they had both returned to New York. The Iron Man had laughed openly at the idea that Bruce could beat him back to Manhattan, and, out of the kindness of his own heart and his own confidence, had allotted the doctor a head start. An hour, the agreement had said, and the instant Bruce had locked the door, the game had begun.

But that had been a good few hours before.

"No way in hell he's gonna beat us back there," Tony laughed, the landscape appearing as but a toy town so far beneath him. "Bruce is under cover like the rest of us. He can't afford to board a plane with those fake credentials. I've got this in the bag."

"I'd forgotten you were so discreet, sir," Jarvis jabbed sarcastically. "You're usually so insistent on keeping a low profile, that I don't know what I was thinking suggesting we fly back to Manhattan."

Tony rolled his eyes and snorted. "God, you sound just like my grandmother, Jarvis," he said, and raised the pitch of his voice. "'Anthony, I thought I told you to stay out of the garden. You'll get sick if you play in that dirt.'"

There was a distinct pause.

"I really don't see how my remark has anything to do with your grandmother, sir."

"You whine like an old lady, Jarvis. That's the point." The billionaire groaned into the helmet. "Damn, I need a drink. How far out are we?"

"May I recommend you see for yourself, sir?"

The suit shot headlong through the clouds, the haze of white vanishing bit by bit as Tony pushed the machine to pick up more speed. His head rocked on his neck, the atmosphere parting to allow him view of the familiar cityscape, the buildings appearing to reach for him as he rushed past them, dropped into a swan dive and straight down into the river.

"I'm such a genius," Tony remarked with a smile, propelling himself through the water. "Go ahead, Jarvis. Tell me I'm a genius."

"Of course you are, sir."

That's what he liked to hear.

He moved through the water until he hit the supports of the bridge, one glowing palm resting against the flat surface of the concrete-enforced metal structure, a light appearing in the shape of a door, allowing Tony to slip through the opening and into a container a ways into the corridor. Positioning his feet below him, the water began to drain, leaving him standing upon the metal grate that would send it back through to the treatment plant. A sound like wind in his ears, and the suit was dried down, the heat sinking inside as Tony stepped out of the tank.

The suit began to steadily vanish as he walked, the machinery beginning to fold itself up starting with his hands and arms. When he stopped, Tony found himself standing at the retina scanner outside their little hideaway, breath caught in his throat as he tucked the folded suit into his pocket, the helmet under his arm.

Pepper was going to hate him for lying, he thought. He wouldn't hear the end of it for weeks, wouldn't be able to be in the same room with her without hearing about how he needed to have respect and regard for the people he claimed to love. It made him ache that he'd scared her, made her believe, for what must have been the millionth time, that he was dead. Then there were the kids. What would they think of him?

With a heavy sigh, Tony leaned into the scan, the light running its way across his eye before the passageway opened into the front room, the lot of them standing around as though they'd been expecting him.

He blinked, looked from Thor to Jane and then to the bizarrely dressed visitors who stood beaming at him. Natasha sat a ways away in the kitchen, clearly trying not to look at him as she smirked, finally turning her head and nodding to someone else who must have been keeping her company. His jaw dropped as Bruce appeared, holding a glass of water as he smiled, mocking Tony in silence.

"About time you got here," he chuckled. "Thought we'd be waiting around a lot longer."

"What the hell?!" Tony shouted, dropping the helmet to the floor. "How in God's name did you get here before me! You can't fly, Bruce! Don't you dare tell me you can!"

The doctor smiled, nodded towards Natasha who gave him a teasing wave. "I asked Natasha to give me a lift."

"But... What... How?!"

"God, Tony," the assassin smirked. "It's not like I've changed my cell number in the past five years."

It still didn't add up. "But... It took me over three hours to get here! How would you–?!"

"I called her before we made the bet," the doctor admitted, not looking the least bit sorry. "I met her further downtown, and we took off after you decided to give me a head start." Bruce held out his hand, still smiling. "You didn't say anything about prior arrangements, Tony. Now, pay up."

"Shut the hell up," Tony snapped, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, slapping the bill into Bruce's hand. "You cheated."

"But I beat you, and I still have a hundred extra bucks."

The group's sudden laughter was stopped by the sound of Pepper's voice, her tone reaching a fever pitch as she sputtered, couldn't manage to get a coherent word out as she rushed towards him from the hallway, the baby held against her as she managed to throw one arm around him.

"My God, Tony!" she finally manged to breathe, choking on the words. "God, I thought you were–"

"Yeah." His voice was low, quiet. "I... I'm really sorry about that. I just... I couldn't risk letting them find you guys." Tony's grip tightened around her, one hand smoothing Gwen's soft baby hair. "I'm so sorry, Pepper... But I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here..."

The sound of tiny footsteps reached him, then the feeling of a pair of little arms closing around his leg, Bradley's red face steadily being rubbed into the fabric of his jeans as he cried.

"Daddy's home!" the child wailed, nose dripping. "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!"

His hand dropped to ruffle his son's hair, the guilt growing inside until Tony thought he might just burst. He hadn't wanted this. The tears, the worry, the pain. He'd just wanted to protect them, keep them safe. But, with this world being as dangerous as it was, it seemed that the two went hand in hand.

"Come on, Tony," Maria said, coming to touch his shoulder warmly. "We've got a lot to talk about."

The man didn't move except to lift his son into his arms, sandwich his boy between himself and Pepper, drawing his arms around the three of them, his head touching her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he almost whimpered. "God... I'm so sorry..."


	20. I'm Finding It Harder To Be A Gentleman

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 20: **I'm Finding It Harder To Be A Gentleman

The recommended tune for this chapter is "Fantasy" by Ms Mr.

* * *

"So Erik Selvig is dead, too."

Maria wove her fingers together, leaning forward on the tabletop with a light shake of her head. It was unbelievable, to be frank, that Loki could hunt them all down and dispose of them so thoroughly. Even those who had been only tied to SHIELD by means of being in protective custody. But, she supposed, it couldn't have mattered much to him. They were all a threat, each a piece of the collective pain in his supposedly royal ass, so much so that Loki had made it painfully clear that not a one of them could survive. Maria frowned slightly, casting her eyes to the infant sleeping soundly in her mother's arms. Even the children, she imagined, would be slaughtered.

"So," Bruce said, leaning back against the counter top. He hopped up, crossing his arms. "What's the plan? Do we have some way to infiltrate his base, or what?"

Natasha snorted loudly, the back of the chair holding her up as she fell forward against it, arms resting on the top so as to cradle her chin.

"We actually managed to get in," she told him, a mild sound of irritation in her tone. "That is, Natalie Rushman did. But Loki's not so stupid as he looks, unfortunately. I didn't last more than a few days inside before he caught me."

"Get anything good out of him?"

"If, by good, you mean godawful, then yes. He's planning another war, this time against Asgard. Says he's going to overthrow Odin, take back what belongs to him." The assassin rolled her eyes. "A lot of bullshit, if you ask me. He's just a megalomaniac with daddy issues, and he's looking for an excuse to prove otherwise."

From the corner of her eye, Maria could see Thor stiffen, Jane's hand touch his as he shut his eyes, set his jaw. Poor thing. All this talk of his brother must have been taking its toll on him, for he hadn't dared utter a word in Loki's defense. And, Maria thought, looking to his warrior friends, neither had they. But, based on the way their expressions changed at the mention of the god's name, they weren't quite as fond of the silver-tongued bastard as the Son of Odin was. She imagined that they had only held their tongues for Thor's sake.

"We can't go in from the air," Tony chimed, lighting a cigarette. Nasty habit, that. "I tried it before just to get in Loki's face. Those damned aliens chased me from the Tower all the way back to the park before I had to... Well, you know. Play dead."

Pepper didn't seem to enjoy hearing about that in the slightest, as she cast her boyfriend a warning glare.

"So," Maria finally sighed, "what is the plan? We don't exactly have an army here."

"Actually..." All eyes turned to Thor, his expression still relatively blue as he spoke. "My father has agreed to lend support our endeavor. When the time comes, we will have the warriors of Asgard on our side to combat Loki's forces. But, before we reach that point, I would still like to try and reason with him." He fidgeted. "I... I bring news from Asgard for him. And I wish to deliver it as soon as possible."

The table rattled, Natasha's fist coming down with a vengeance. She swung one leg over the side of the chair, pushing herself to her feet.

"Thor, he's not going home with you!" she howled, and shoved her hands against his chest. "How long are you going to stand here acting like a child?! Loki's _not_ your brother, and he's _not_ going to listen to you! So stop wasting our time with all this sorry talk of saving him!"

His nostrils flared, moving towards the woman with a single, lumbering step. Thor towered over her, his face shifting back and forth between anguish and fury before settling somewhere in between. From her seat, Maria could see his eyes glaze over, his lip quiver as it attempted to remain straight.

"Loki is lost," the god finally murmured in agreement. "But he ought to know the truth, all the same."

"What truth?! That you're going to waste your life caring about him?! He doesn't _care,_ Thor! He hates you! He wants all of us–!"

"Our mother is dead."

Natasha's mouth hung wide open, the smolder in her gaze dying down like a pit fire doused by rain.

Thor shrugged, fingers clasping Jane's hand. "He needs to know."

There came the sound of steady clapping, smoke drifting out of Tony's nose as he smirked, steadily shaking his head as though he'd just seen a hellish Broadway performance.

"Oh, well done," he chuckled. "Really, good idea, Sparky. You'll go in and throw him off with that sad, sad story, and we'll enjoy the rest of the show."

"Tony." Maria's voice was hard. This wasn't a joke, and he knew it. But, for the sake of avoiding an argument, she thought it best to have a little chat with him later on. "What do mean, 'go in?' We're not going anywhere. Or do you not remember almost being blown to pieces?"

This time, Pepper's glare was directed at her.

The cigarette still held between his lips, Tony reached into his pocket for his phone, played around with the screen before the message projection bounced to the wall. As indicated by the ridiculous "War Machine Rox" email address, it had come straight from James, an invite to yet another lavish party, this time held in honor of the public service and military officials who had been killed off by countless executions. It seemed like too much of a risk, Maria thought, considering Loki was responsible for all those deaths, it didn't make a terrible amount of sense for him to allow a gathering of this sort to take place.

"Wait," Jane said, pointing up at the time stamp. "This was sent yesterday. We didn't know you were all right until this morning."

Pepper's blue eyes went wide. She was livid. "Did... Did Rhodey _know_ that you were safe?"

Tony shrugged, getting a bit too comfortable with his tone. "Well, duh. He's the one who let me know where Bruce was hiding out. Why wouldn't he have known?"

The redheaded woman stood. "And you didn't think to have him pass along a message to your _family_ that you weren't dead?!"

"How are we getting in?" Bruce chimed. "It's not like we can just walk in the front door."

Natasha raised a hand, shaping and moving it like a puppet and rolling her eyes as Tony began speaking again.

"Yeah, we can, Bruce. We get all jazzed up, meet Rhodey just outside Stark Tower, and walk right on in. Not a big deal."

"Stark Tower?! What about the Chitauri?! They'll be all over the place!"

"Let me spell it out for you: We've got the God of Thunder, a master assassin, the Jolly Green Giant, a couple of hardcore SHIELD agents, the Iron Patriot, Jarvis, and, of course, my ensemble of suits. I think we're pretty well covered."

He kept chattering on, the group's attention quickly draining away. If it weren't a big deal, they wouldn't have been sitting here, wouldn't have been forced to hide and plan their every move. They'd still have Steve, Clint, Fury, and Coulson with them.

But ignorance, Maria supposed, was bliss.

**# - # - # - #**

She didn't like this, the feel of his arm brushing against her as he breathed, held hands with Jane and kept her close to him. It was a foreign idea now, after these few weeks, wondering just what it would feel like to have him hold her again. Needless to say, Natasha was not overly affectionate. She was stoic, reserved, kept her thoughts and feelings to herself unless the moment demanded otherwise. It had been part of her training, to keep her emotions in check. And to allow herself too much freedom on that front had, on more than one occasion in the past, proved to be more than just a simple mistake.

It was all around her, the pairs sitting closely together. Thor and Jane, Tony and Pepper. Why, Maria had even seemed to take a bit of a liking to Hirsch when he'd been called up and asked to accompany them, and Darcy had taken to asking a somewhat timid Bruce to explain to her some basic principles of Physics that she was having a bit of difficulty with. So, of course, the Black Widow felt a bit betrayed by the whole ordeal, inwardly cursing the god for having taken away that which she had held to be important above all else.

Flinching, the vehicle stopped, the men filing out one by one to offer their arms to the ladies, lower them gently to the ground. Clint would have looked like an idiot doing that, she thought with a smirk. Wearing a suit and a bow tie and complaining that, by God, he couldn't breathe with the damn thing around his neck as he had a number of times before. She would have just smiled, taken his hand and stepped out, smoothing the fabric of his suit jacket and pulling lightly on the bow so as to keep it secure, remarking that he looked the part of a perfect gentleman. Of course, that would've kept him quiet, satisfied him.

Through the doors the group went, Natasha gliding on black heels, adjusting the choker set above the neckline of her red dress as James appeared, welcoming them and drawing each of them into an embrace.

Pepper, of course, received him with a stiff expression.

"You are unbelievable," she huffed, and Natasha stifled a laugh. "I cannot believe you let me believe that the father of our children was–!"

"Pepper, I'm sorry," the colonel replied, attempting to keep the volume low. "I couldn't... I couldn't risk telling you outright. We..." He peered over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "We're all being watched. All of you. Especially when you make these public appearances."

The assassin gave Tony a harsh smack on the arm.

"Well done, Stark."

She wandered a fair distance ahead of the group, holding on to the officer's voice as he directed them through the crowd that made a beeline for the open hall for the ceremony. Hirsch pulled her gently by the arm as she stopped, ushering her in the opposite direction with a nod of his head, indicating that they were being led through another door.

Shaking him off, Natasha followed, a stern expression on her face as James took them quickly through the familiar back hallway, the room opening up before them, lights bright and voices mingling.

"Best get yourselves something to eat," James suggested.

Natasha said not a word to the colonel, heard nothing from the others, peering around his shoulder to catch sight of a familiar-looking man. From so far across the room, she could not see his face, his back turned to her. But, by his build and the color of his hair, it was clear as to who he was.

"No..."

Her eyes wide, the woman all but sprinted across the floor, pushing past laughing parties and young men carrying drinks to try and reach him. It was a lie, she tried to tell herself. Just another figment of her imagination, or one of Loki's cruel tricks, making her see what it was she wanted.

She rushed him, caught the gentleman by the shoulder and watched him spin, the look on his face that of surprise rather than recognition. This man, Natasha realized bitterly, was most certainly not Clint Barton.

"Sorry," she murmured, looking away from him. "I thought you were someone else..."

"Missing Agent Barton, are we?"

Natasha spun around, hand poised to strike, but felt her wrist being knocked away. She grimaced, hated the feel of his arm draped about her shoulders, putting on the facade that they were anything more than enemies. As per habit, the assassin had secured a number of knives beneath her dress, her fingers now itching to take the chance and try to ram one down Loki's lying throat.

"Shut up," she snapped. "What the hell are you doing here? Feeling guilty over all the cops and soldiers you've killed?"

"No," the god replied coolly. Damn, she hated how he behaved, how he dressed. As though he were a real gentleman with that slim, black suit and trimmed hair to match. He made her sick. "I was certain you'd show tonight, and thought it rude if I didn't say hello."

The Black Widow made a face, shoving his arm away. "Well, if you didn't come to right your wrongs and let me kill you, you've wasted both my time, and your own."

With her back to him, Natasha refused to look back, her gaze dead set on the opposite end of the room when she heard his steps follow and stop.

"Would you like to know why you keep seeing him, Natasha? It is not an accident."

The first time Natasha had seen him, it had been in their room back at the base. She had sat alone in the dark, asking herself why for well over an hour. Why people had to die, why they had to shoulder this burden, why Clint had been taken from them. From her. Her dearest friend. Hell, even the man she had allowed herself to love. Hearing Loki use the archer against her like that stung, anger boiling deep in her chest as she turned right back around and struck him full in the face with the flat of her hand, drawing a great deal of attention.

It had seemed that, until that moment, no one had seen him, known Loki was there. Perhaps some working of his own, she thought, his illusion shattered by the suddenness of the assault, the hot sting of the blow swiftly altering the color of his cheek.

He appeared a bit perplexed, certainly not having expected her to react in such a manner, his empty eyes slowly turning to stare at her. And, in them, Natasha could see herself reflected, see the shock running through her own widened gaze as his fingers grazed the exposed skin of her throat. Again, her reaction became violent, her hands closing around his arm as she pulled, one foot planted on the ground as Natasha crouched, the other leg taking Loki's out from beneath him. With a deep breath, she hefted him up and over her shoulder, slamming the god into the floor with a thud. The crowd murmured, gaping and some even screaming as the assassin's heel found his sternum.

"Whatever game you are playing, I want no part of it!" The words were hissed through the woman's teeth, her weight falling on the foot that she had him pinned to the floor with. Loki winced, drawing Natasha's painted lips up into a dark and satisfied smirk, knowing that it was just _eating_ at him to have his pride wounded here in front of all these people. "Now tell me! Why do I keep seeing him?!"

"Did you actually see him fall, Natalia?" Silvertongue replied, still sounding far too confident for a man who had just had his ass thrown to the floor. "Did you see him strike the ground? Hear the crack of his bones as they shattered? Did you watch him bleed? Pick up his broken body?" His eyes widened, taunting her. "Or did you just bury a remnant, unable to find the remains of the man you loved?"

Natasha crouched, grabbed him by the tie and growled into his ear, _"Do not fuck with me, Loki."_

"No," came the whisper. "That wouldn't be my job."

She blinked, green eyes suddenly staring down at nothing, Thor's hands on her, lifting her from the floor with worry, fear, in his tone.

"Are you all right?"

Still a bit shaken, Natasha frowned, shook her head slightly, suspicion continuing to ravage her mind.

"No," the Black Widow told him. "No, I'm not."


	21. Mother

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 21: **Mother

The recommended tune for this chapter is "Runaway" by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

* * *

The unease had crept up on him early in the evening, slithering down the back of his shirt the way his brother's tricks might have once upon a time. Trout in the bathhouse, snakes in his bed, spiders in the dining hall. All of those mischievous pranks had sent shivers down his spine, and it was again, as he sat stiffly amid the ceremony, that Thor felt the very same sensations. It did not disappear the way he had expected, a hand constantly reaching up to the collar of his shirt to ensure that there were nothing unwanted laying its touch upon his skin. And, each time, Thor found nothing.

There was an emptiness he kept on running across in the days, a moment where he felt as though he were suspended in midair, not quite certain just which way was up. It was a terrifying feeling, to not know who or where he was, where he was meant to stand. The others, Thor feared, could not understand. They could not quite know the feeling of perpetual loss as he, though they had all had loved ones stolen quickly away. The best way to explain, the God of Thunder thought, was to look to the Tower, acknowledge that his brother still lived if only to spite him. That, he knew, was far more of an ache than laying the man to rest.

It was as a dream, his hand in Jane's as she led him, their group as blissful as they could be given the circumstances, offering thanks to those who, despite hardships and peril, still sought to protect their city, the nation, the world, from obviously unfair rule. It was then that, once again, Thor felt a shudder thrum through him, his feet stopping firmly on the floor while his head turned, slowly, to peer over his shoulder.

A smile greeted him, the same that he remembered from his days as a boy, darting through the foliage of the forests with his friends. But it was not the same smile at all. Not the least bit warm and playful as it had once been, but bitter, a precursor to yet another show of theatrics on his opposite's part. A promise. A promise of death and mayhem.

In a singular motion, Thor took hold of her, pulled Jane into his arms and dropped to the floor, the others staring with wide eyes as he shouted for them to get down. Though it was with question, they too dove down, an ear-shattering burst of flame and rubble tearing through the room, hovering just above their heads. The screams tore at him like hands having risen from the grave, the anger and confusion brimming inside as the heat promptly dissipated.

Around him, there were bodies, people shuddering, some charred and unmoving. But, all the same, there was but a singular expression on Loki's face. It was that of pride, as though he had successfully whittled away the rough edges of an otherwise talentless orchestra, only to produce the most enthralling sound ever to grace a man's ears. It shook Thor to the bone, his feet lifting him as he lunged across the room, catching his brother by the collar of his jacket and shaking him.

"This is no game, Loki!" he roared, and Thor's teeth chattered. "Why?! Tell me why you insist on slaughtering civilians?! Have you not spilled enough blood?!"

Only then did the Trickster's eyes move, narrowing slightly as they fixated on his face, expression blank and serious.

"Have I had enough, you ask," Loki murmured, appearing thoughtful. "It is sad that you feel the need to ask me, Thor. But, if it is an answer you seek... _No._ No, I haven't. There will never be enough, for they are all guilty of the same crimes. Greed. Lust. Pride. Do you not see it? These people you fight for... they seek nothing but their own empty satisfaction. And that will not change, no matter how long you hold out your hand for them."

"Then what of yourself? Are you trying to tell me that this is all that's left? Your hatred?"

Silvertongue blinked, eyes wide and looking taken aback. "'Trying?'" he repeated. A smirk. "I have not been _trying_ to tell you anything. I have told you precisely what I am and what I intend from the beginning. You have just been too deaf to hear."

Thor growled, pushed forward and shoved Loki to the floor, shaking him until a rattling echoed in the Thunderer's ears.

"Then war is what you have chosen?! Do you not care for that which remains in Asgard?! Do you–?!"

His chest screamed, body thrown back across the room, the backside of his jacket rubbing against the shine as Thor heaved. A sharp pain in his side, and hands set about his throat, Loki's composure so suddenly lost.

"I have _never_ cared for Asgard; for the realm that made an outsider out of me!" He'd hit the fever pitch, breath ragged and tone every bit as rough as it had been amid their battle on the Bifrost. "What have I to lose should I conquer the Aesir realm?!"

"Do you not care for them?! For our mother?! For Sig–"

A sharp sting across the side of his face, the anger in the other's eyes drifting closer to anguish.

_"Don't you speak her name,"_ Loki hissed. _"You haven't the right."_

This could not go on. It already had for long enough. It had come time to put an end to this bickering, forget the childish need to win a petty verbal argument, and speak but the truth rather than wasted words of reason. But, Thor thought, even that was a potentially vain shot in the dark, and there was no telling whether or not the news from home would be enough to stop Loki's madness, even if only for a moment.

A deep breath he drew, seeking to still his fluttering heart, quell the storm of bile that churned heavily in his gut. Even now, he could see her, lying still as death loomed over her, that gentle face of hers never again to swell and bloom with pride and joy, a smile tugging beautifully at her lips. She would not again rise at dawn, come to find him in his chambers, run her fingers through his hair and whisper sweet words of comfort as she had when Loki had first gone away. She would not cry with him, seek to still his fears and usher away his nightmares with song. All of that Thor acknowledged with a heavy sigh, had been taken away, and it took everything he possessed to not lash out and cast that blame fully upon his brother's shoulders.

Time seemed to slow, his arm rising up from the floor to touch the other's face, the ache of loss burning inside as Thor's eyes began to glaze over.

"If nothing else, I have sought to bring you news of Mother's death... I am sorry."

One could feel the atmosphere of the room grow tense, heavy, nearly see it weigh a man down and send him to his knees in stark shock. And it did. Like the weight of the Nine Realms had fallen upon him, Loki crumbled, the mask breaking and giving way to that same desperate look that he had cast at Odin, seeking approval, acceptance, anything at all. Thor could barely hear the faint whine, the shudder of breath as Loki searched himself for something to say. But there came not a word.

He felt almost bad for having said anything, but it would have been far worse had Thor kept it from him, sought to hide yet another bit of crucial truth. He would not take the same path as his father, would not allow this chaos to spin ever further out of control by the way of utilizing lies. Yet, truth, it seemed, was not quite so much the Son of Odin's ally as he had initially thought.

"Just like him, aren't you?" They were forced words, pushed out in place of the scream that Thor knew burned within. "Every bit _his_son... Liar..."

"Do you not understand, Brother?!" shot the Thunderer, and his voice cracked. "She _died_ waiting for you!"

"That's enough of your lies!" Loki sneered, and the God of Thunder could see the child searching the palace for his mother's shadow. "She's not... She wouldn't..." Less and less the words were directed at him, until Loki spoke only to himself, fingers tearing into his hair and eyes squeezed shut. "No... No, it's not possi–"

"Loki..."

Without thinking, Thor inched his way across the floor, outstretched hand falling squarely on his brother's shoulder, fingers offering a gentle squeeze as he bowed his head. He should have known it would happen like this, whether or not he had opted to conceal the fact until a later date.

A quiet sound reached his ears, the god's head rising once again.

"What...?"

"Liar," came the reply, and Thor felt himself being knocked back, heat exploding against the surface of his skin as flame touched him. "You're a _fool_, Thor! Always have been!"

He heard gunshots, flinched as Loki staggered back, snarling at Natasha and the others as they advanced, Tony and James with their suits and the assassin with her gun and daggers. A thin line of blood on his brother's cheek, and an unheard threat, a chunk of the room's ceiling collapsing inward, bashing in the floor and leaving a heavy cloud of dust, bullets still flying as Thor coughed, covered his head and hurried back towards the group. Jane's arms encircled him once he dove to the floor again, managing somehow to slide right into her grasp, waiting with bated breath for the smoke to clear.

"Did that work out the way you expected, Thor?" Natasha asked him, the sound of a fresh clip snapping into place.

The God of Thunder said nothing as he sat upright, the dust gradually settling, and cast his eyes about the mess that his fool brother had made.

To his great regret, Thor saw that Loki was nowhere to be seen.


	22. Every Demon Wants His Pound Of Flesh

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 22: **Every Demon Wants His Pound Of Flesh

The recommended tune for this chapter is "Deconstructing Gods" by Blaqk Audio.

* * *

This, he had decided, could not be real. Everything in him, right down to the finest of hairs, rejected the idea, denied it, refused to believe it, accept it as truth. Yet, there it was, acceptance staring him right in the face in the form of this fatigue, this violent reaction that had left the ballroom trashed and himself upstairs and out of breath, out of sight. Were it so outlandish as he wished to believe, Loki would have paid it no mind, would have finished Thor as he ought to, waved this off as though it were nothing.

But it was something. Everything. And that was why it _hurt._

He'd gone and made himself ill thinking about it, steadily piecing together all the little things he could conjure. The dreams, the visions, Thor's pointless, compassionate gesture. It all fit so well together, and that shock was more than enough to double him over, cause him to gag and retch yet again.

_"What have you done?!"_

It rang in his head, heart racing, the cold of the tile floor of very little comfort. Somehow, it felt right, and the nightmare came rushing right back at him, a slap across the face. That was what she'd been doing, trapped in his mind. Another projection of sorts, communication from her to him. She had been waiting, lingering at the water's edge in hopes that, perhaps, he'd come sailing home.

Now, there was a question. That moment when she'd appeared that very first night, draped in silver and made up of only cold... had that been the night she'd succumbed, known that he would not be returning to Asgard save it be as but a prisoner of war? Had she not wanted to see him, even bound in chains, stripped of his dignity, his craft, before the court of Odin?

She had been _begging_ him to come home.

That made sense enough, Loki thought with a shuddering breath. His mother's demise, Thor's sudden reappearance, the words that he had never anticipated hearing.

_"She died waiting for you!"_

Sensible or not, he would still deny, just as he always had. Loki had, since that dreaded revelation, denied himself a rather prominent part of his identity, naming himself nothing more than God of Mischief rather than Aesir or Jotunn; had denied the lingering idea that he and the bumbling God of Thunder were brothers, though there was a lack of blood between the pair; had denied himself the pleasure of believing himself worthy to cleave to so beautiful a woman, one who remained in the realm that, Loki swore, he would never again venture into save in the name of war and vengeance. So much he had denied, refused to allow the roots to grow on him, but the one thing he had so willingly accepted was her compassion, her unrequited love for him. And now that was gone away as well.

It wasn't his fault, Loki decided. He hadn't been there, had had no say in whether or not she would live or die. If anyone were to blame, it would be Odin, the very being who had pushed him to all this, refused to acknowledge him, accept him, as he had Thor. _He_had lied. _He_ had favored but the one son. _He_ had instructed an entire people to lie to him. Everything had been _his_ doing. All the years believing in lies, swallowing them, holding to vain hopes. Odin was the one who shouldered all that guilt, and Loki saw little reason to spare him this blame.

She, _his_ mother, had died. Waiting. For _him._

A dark expression crossed his face, his insides _aching_ for reprieve, perhaps destruction.

"I don't care," was the lie he allowed to slip past parted lips. "That... doesn't make it... _my_ fault..."

**# - # - # - #**

"Wait." Tony stood stone still, one brow raised as he set his hands firmly on his hips. He moved only to pinch the bridge of his nose. "He told you to _kill us_?"

James hedged, forced himself to nod slightly, hands balled into fists within his pockets as he took a step back, leaned quietly into the wall. He felt like hell having to admit it, but what point was there in lies? Though it was likely that they would be reluctant to trust him now, but certain would it be were he to decide to mask the truth behind a web of lies. It was better, and far easier, to have it come outright, be upfront with them rather than play pretend and pussyfoot about.

Their eyes on him, he cast his gaze to the shine of his shoes, even the lights in the reflection appearing someone dim and disenchanted with him. Was he really so guilty as all that? Having been summoned as a soldier, a man dedicated to serving his nation, though it had been taken over by an otherworldly force? It had been for them. Always for them. For Tony, Pepper, their friends. It had been to protect them from certain destruction, to buy them, and him, time with which to figure this mess out.

Even so, it did not seem that a one of them were quite taken with the fact that James had agreed to destroy them. If only to save face.

"I only agreed to–"

"Forget it."

James looked up, saw the gentle flicker of a leer in the Black Widow's eyes. It was not for him, that venom, but for the other. He who sought, above all else, to annihilate them, cause them all to suffer. It surprised the colonel, to realize that she held no malice for him in her heart and mind.

"But I–"

"I said, forget it, James," Natasha repeated, leaning back against the wall from her perch atop the back of the couch. "You bought us time. That's all we could have asked for."

A quiet sigh from Thor, the god sitting hunched over at the table, fingers twined together in front of his face. His brows met in the middle of that deep frown, another shaky breath escaping him as Jane took to rubbing his shoulder in a gesture of attempted comfort.

They had all seen it. The clash between two gods, each hellbent on having that which they desired. Thor, with his dedication to justice, fighting to protect friend and foe alike, and Loki, the tyrant with a chip on his shoulder, his sole objective to cause his brother unbearable pain. It had been frightening, to say the least, watching the room burst with light and crackle with raw power, see two men trade blows so fierce as the lion's roar as though they were but nothing. It only served to prove that there were powers in the universe that the likes of mankind could not combat. As such, it was a great relief to have a god standing on their side. And a terror to have another opposing them on the other.

"Uh, guys?"

Heads turned, Darcy standing in the doorway with her hair disheveled, stuck to the back of her head as she held up her cell phone. She slid across the floor in sock feet, placed the device in Tony's hand and bit her lip.

The man took but one look at the screen, his eyes growing wide as he flung the material onto the wall, the livestream appearing as Jarvis patched it through. A section of Queens was what it appeared to be, people darting out of buildings and screaming as they streamed towards the camera. Parents carried their children, vehicles and other methods of transportation easily left behind as the group stared in confusion, squinting to see just what it was that had the citizens so damn panicked.

"What is that?" Maria slid a chair across to the wall, stepping up on it and pointing towards the top of the screen near the far end of the street. "It looks like a... cloud...?"

A heavy silver cloud, reaching high and above the buildings, swept through the air, seeming to crash down over the cameras like a wave as the news crew scattered, the feed bouncing some several moments before settling back down again. It appeared to be but fog, obscuring the empty strip of city from sight as the crew chattered on behind the camera.

"The hell is this?"

"Fog, maybe?"

"There was nothing in the forecast about fog. Weren't you listening to Marco?"

"Hush," the newscaster's voice said, cutting through the room once again. "As you can see here, Gene, we've run across a bizarre bit of fog here in the Jackson Heights area of Queens. The source is presently unknown, but we've been informed that experts are working to uncover the cause."

"Experts," Tony snorted. "Yeah, that's why you don't know where it came from."

James turned his head. "And you do?"

The billionaire shrugged. "Bet you fifty bucks we'll find out here in a minute. And I can tell you guys right now, we're not going to like it."

There were screams, the camera operator flying off into the fog, the machine starting its descent to the ground before being stopped. James cast his eyes about the room, noting how on edge the others were, their expressions that of horror as the tortured sounds of wailing abruptly stopped. The sound of a soft laugh, the angle of the shot changing to that with a view of the ground, a familiar silver sheen appearing the higher it was lifted. The creatures screeched into the lens, the sound rattling the room, Darcy wincing and clapping her hands over her ears.

"Not particularly intelligent," came the smooth drawl, and Thor tensed, "but terribly effective. I know you're watching, waiting. Wondering." The camera moved again, the mass of Chitauri agents parting to produce a distant shadow, the outline of a man. "Say hello, darling."

The colonel drew breath, jaw slack as he turned, looked right at Natasha as she jumped off the couch and too her feet, head gently shaking from side to side.

"No," she breathed. _"No."_

"Holy shit."

James looked back to the wall, refusing to believe the sight. It wasn't real. He wasn't. He'd been gone for weeks now, his death having been yet another low blow to the Avengers, not only as a team, but as a family. A family that, it seemed, Loki was intent on exploiting as a weapon.

Her hand grazed his sleeve, legs shaking as she fell, James' arms sliding beneath the woman to hold her upright. But she didn't appear to know he was there. She could only stare, wide-eyed and whispering the man's name, over and over again.

_"Clint."_


	23. But Home Is Nowhere

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 23: **But Home Is Nowhere

The recommended tune for this chapter is "Teardrop" by Massive Attack.

* * *

Falling. It was what he remembered when his eyes closed. The feel of low-hanging clouds returning to vapor beneath the weight of his body, the ground growing steadily closer the longer he shot through the air, faster and faster until, at the last moment, he hit, the impact somewhat dulled by a figure what had been crushed beneath him. Not the shape of a car, for there would have been glass, not just blood. One of _them_, the creatures that assaulted his city, his once paradise. A glance up at the grey air between himself and the sky, a shadow, and all went dark again.

A halo of red hair, reminiscent of the tales of the phoenix. A bird that died in ashes and yet rose again, perpetual in its cycle of life and death. The image, her face, cut into his mind, his memories rising and falling like rain flowing both forward and in reverse. It had a name, that face. A familiar sound that he knew he had spoken to himself often.

Beneath his boots, the gravel shifted, limp bodies lying about in the street, their life blood steadily trickling away from open wounds. It felt wrong, wrenching arrows from their corpses, fitting them back into his quiver. So wrong. But who was he to stop it, stop himself? Who was he to fight his own body, commands not given by his own mind?

Snatched from death. Changed. Opened and unmade. Again.

"You're going to find her," the serpent whispered in his ear. He could almost see it, that glinting smile, venom dripping from that silver tongue. "Make her believe in you again. In any way you can."

"What then?" That voice was not Clint's own, a shudder ripping through him as the sound slithered into his skull. "What of the others?"

They'd always been together. Him and her, their friends, their broken little family. They wouldn't separate. Not now.

_"Draw them out."_

The archer's gaze fell, eyes wide and clear, the sensation tingling up his spine and bubbling about within his mind. He couldn't. He couldn't betray them. His friends, Natasha, the ones he loved. It was wrong, a crime against everything that they had ever stood for. Against trust, companionship, the deeply desired peace. His jaw locked, fighting within himself to shout back, say no, no he wouldn't; he'd rather die than betray his friends.

But it was with a forced nod that he agreed, a satisfied grin on the god's face as he circled around.

"Well done." Loki waved a hand. "Now, who are you?"

A spark of light in his vision and Clint grimaced, stepping back, one hand pressed hard against his forehead as he groaned. What had happened? The last thing he could recall was falling, seeing Natasha stretch out her hand, reaching for him, missing by only a hair's breadth. He had tumbled, certain of death before striking the ground, his body aching, screaming, as his eyes fluttered closed. His last conscious thought had been how he had failed the team, failed her, left them all to fight the onslaught of hell on their own.

What right had he to die, he had thought, to be at peace when others were forced to live in endless suffering?

Clenching a fist around his bow, the archer glanced at it, fingers curling tighter as he reached back, drew and arrow from his quiver, fitting it against the string. He drew it back, the silence unnerving, scanning the fog for any sight of his opponent.

He was here. Somewhere. Clint could feel it, his bones rattling, aching with the urge to let fly the arrow, watch it tear through layers of leather and flesh.

On a heel he spun, the string snapping forward, the shaft launching in a straight line through the air, the sound of impact pleasing to his ears. Eager feet carried him forward a ways, grinding quickly to a stop at the sight. On his knees, the bastard shuddered, the black shaft having lodged itself between his ribs, blood dribbling quietly to the ground.

The archer smirked, another arrow fitting into the notch of the string. "Well, looks like monsters bleed after all."

Again, he drew back his arm, firing just as the god sneered, turned to strike. A crack, the hollow sound of wheezing, Clint's satisfaction welling inside him as Loki gave a low whine, falling flat on his back, the shaft buried in his throat.

"Hawkeye," was the reply, bow slung over his shoulder. "And I never miss."

**# - # - # - #**

"Sir?"

"Oh, my God, Jarvis. Can I have just _one minute_ to myself, please?"

All day long there had been noise. What were they going to do about Loki, why couldn't Thor just man up and accept what he saw as truth, and so on. It was old, he was tired, and the kids had been clamoring for his attention for the whole of the day. But that, however, was a completely different matter, and something that, as a father, Tony had to simply deal with. But the big thing that had set the man off, no surprise, had been Natasha's sudden change in attitude. No more reserved, aloof assassin for her. She had done a complete turn around, going off about anything and on anyone as she struggled to understand just what had been seen on the news feed. Just like the rest of them.

The archer's apparent death, it seemed, had been nothing but fraud. The question, however, was how. He hadn't been there, seen the man fall to his death from the rooftop of a smoldering building in the weeks before. He hadn't seen Natasha reach for him, miss his hand by only a fraction of a second, watch him disappear into the smoke and rain below. She had, and that explained, Tony thought, why all of this was such a stark surprise to her now.

She had watched him die, in a sense. Likely imagined his body hitting the ground below, breaking, bleeding, perhaps thought of him being utterly destroyed by their enemies, as they had found little more than blood left behind when the scene had been visited in the battle's aftermath.

Truth be told, Tony had never really thought of the woman as being genuinely human before that moment when she had allowed herself to hit the ground, fingers scraping against the pavement upon which her partner's blood had been spilled. Not a sound had escaped her, even as her body shuddered, the look in her eyes having grown hard as diamond daggers, that glaze overcoming them as she all but forced herself to hold back the damn that threatened to collapse.

His eyes opened, staring blankly up at the ceiling with a wide yawn. That was a day he wouldn't be forgetting. Seeing the assassin as a woman with a then bleeding heart rather than a hard and ruthless mercenary from the cold fronts of the Russian frontier.

A slam rang through the room from the kitchen, Tony groaning in protest as he sat up and leaned forward, snatched a pillow from the other end of the couch and slapped it over his head as the door opened, Bruce wandering in behind the seething assassin.

"All I'm saying is that he's capable of it, Natasha," the doctor said, likely gesturing with his hands the way he did when he spoke. He might as well have been carrying a shovel and digging himself a grave, Tony thought. "We don't know if that was really Clint or not. For all we know, Loki could have–"

"I know my partner, Bruce."

If only he hadn't left his Starkphone on the charger in the bedroom, he'd have peeked out from beneath his cover and snapped a picture. Natasha was likely jabbing the man in the chest with a polished fingernail, ready to tear into him if he so much as mentioned the archer's name again.

A sound from the door, blending with the sound of Jarvis' voice as he sought to inform Tony that there was a potential intruder on the other side. The man groaned into the cushion, deciding that, if it really were a security breach, things wouldn't be quite so calm as all that. There'd be sirens going off in his head, and that feeling in his stomach would be more than that of just gas after breakfast.

"Thor's buddies," he said, "probably locked themselves out. They don't know how to use a retina scanner, so..."

Natasha murmured something under her breath about him being a lazy piece of work, her boots clacking across the floor as she presumably moved to unlock the door manually. In turn, Tony shrugged, not presently concerned with her opinions of him. She generally didn't have too many good things to say about him, given all that she knew about him from a few years back, so there was little reason for him to care. Shrugging it off was the least he could do to ignore it.

Well, that and drinking.

"Did I hear my name?"

The pillow was plucked off of Tony's head, the Thunder God standing just over the side of the couch with a perplexed look on his face. Behind him were the warriors, each dressed in modern wear so as to make them blend in better within the city.

"This is quite nice," Fandral chuckled, inspecting the sweater he wore. "I wouldn't have expected mortals to have such good taste in fabric."

Tony sat upright. "That's because it's _mine_, and I can afford nice fabric– Thor, what were you doing in my closet?"

A shrug. "Nothing I had would fit either Fandral nor Hogun. And Pepper assured me you would be quite all right with it until we could procure them something else to adorn themselves with."

_"Oh, my God... _Pepper!"

"You _idiot!_"

Heads turned to the door as it slammed shut, the locks repositioning themselves with a click as the security protocols were put back into place by Jarvis. The sound of a slap, a grunt, and another shout, Natasha wandering back into the room, red-faced and angry.

"Nat, I'm sorry! I didn't–"

"Oh. My. God." Tony stared, keeping his eyes on the new arrival as he turned his head to shout down the hall. "Pepper! Pepper, oh, my God!"

She rushed down the hall with a fury, bare feet padding against the floor, Gwen in her arms and fussing. "Tony, I just had her put down for a nap! Now, what is so important that you'd–"

A short wave as the sheepish-looking archer shrugged, flinching as Natasha slapped him again.

"Hey, guys."

Snatching the pillow from the god, Tony leaned forward and groaned into it.

"I'm drunk. Oh, my God, I must be so fucking drunk."

**# - # - # - #**

"I really don't know."

What a load of shit, she thought with a shake of her head. Clint was an idiot, but he wasn't this stupid. Any man should have known how he had survived a near-death experience, particularly one so memorable as nearly falling to his death from the top of a crumbling skyscraper amid a brutal fight with a bastard god. It couldn't get any more extreme than that, she thought, and the more deadly the mission, the more the mind retained the experience. And that was coming from a woman who had stared death in the face a hundred times over amid her dangerous career.

Eyes cast downward, Natasha stared at her boots, sorely tempted to give the archer a good kick to the crotch beneath the table and teach him a lesson for lying to her. Had he no idea how worried she'd been? How many nights she'd stayed awake wondering how things could have turned out differently, how she could have reacted in time to catch him, save him? Did he not know about the ceremony they'd held in his honor, how many tears the lot of them had shed on his behalf? One way or the other, it made her angry. And as he was the only party present who had been directly involved in that great scare, that put all the blame on him. That is, until she could get her hands about Loki's lying throat.

"Where did you wake up?"

Tony didn't seem the least bit interested, despite his tone, still sure to have been lying flat on his back on the couch in the other room, raising his voice to shout through the kitchen partition so he wouldn't have to get up.

Lazy man.

"In Queens," Clint replied, not having touched his coffee. "I... I shot him..." He raised his head, looked her right in the eye. "I shot him."

"Loki?" Natasha wasn't sure she believed that. "You _shot_ Loki?"

"Oh, come off it," Tony groaned, poking his head through the partition. "Loki's not that easy, Tweety Bird, and you know it. Whatever happened, the bastard played you like a harp, man. Used you to screw with our heads. Even if you did shoot the guy, there's no way he'd let you kill him."

As much as she hated to admit it, the Iron Man had a point. Perhaps he wasn't immortal, but Loki was resilient if nothing else. And, with all the tricks he carried with him, it certainly wasn't going to be beyond him to pull the wool over Clint's eyes, make him think he'd shot the bastard down.

"So." Natasha drummed her fingers on the table. "Where have you been all this time?"

Another shrug. "I can't remember. I just... I just know that it was dark. Cold."

"He is such a child," Sif snorted, perched on the counter top. "Playing with minds and magic as though they were but toys."

Minds. Loki had done it before. During the invasion. Taken Clint's mind and played, taken him out and stuffed something else in.

"Do you remember anything?" She hedged. "At all? You did the last time. You–"

"Nothing," Clint said, his eyes knowing of what she spoke. His hand moved across the table, reaching. "Nothing. It wasn't the same."

Natasha looked away, let his fingers cover hers as Tony, like the idiot boy he was, made a gagging sound. But she ignored him, tried to remember the last time the hawk had held her hand like this, shy fool that he was around others.

"Shut up," the assassin told him with a sigh. "Just... shut up, you idiot."


	24. The Frail Guardians

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 24: **The Frail Guardians

The recommended tune for this chapter is "The One Who Got Away" by The Civil Wars.

* * *

"Charming girl, isn't she?" Fandral remarked with a grin, his head turning every so often to catch a better glimpse at the women who passed them by on the street. "Such a pretty face and sweet demeanor. It is not a wonder Thor finds her attractive."

Those words, to Sif, were but the stench of death in the air, her nose wrinkling as she pressed on, eyes scanning the stretch of city laid out before them. Were she to be but honest with herself, it was not a genuine dislike for Jane at all. She was a fine woman, bright-eyed and startlingly intelligent, certainly able to hold her own against fools who, like Fandral, sought out only petty mischief. It was, however, her deep-seated affection for Thor, that which stretched back centuries, that drove War towards this bitterness, this utter disdain for casting her eyes upon the pair as they held one another close. For some great deal of time Sif had admitted to loving him within herself, the first lingering memory of that feeling stemming from the day he had forced his idiot brother to apologize for damaging her hair. Perhaps even before. But, regardless, Thor was not a prize to be won nor a city to be conquered. He was a man. A man that, the warrior quietly knew, she could never have.

This New York was a good deal like Asgard, with exception of scantily clad women and men handing out bizarre fliers on street corners. There were lights, those brought about by flame and the touch of brilliant sorcerers, beautifully crafted buildings of all shapes and sizes, a myriad of citizens draped in fine cloths and accents of gold and silver. But these people, Sif noted with a slight crease of her brow, these mortals, were far too liberal in their affection for one another. Even for strangers.

She turned back, recognizing the distinct lack of her companions' bodies hovering behind her own, surprised to see that the three of them had stopped to stare longingly into a window, Fandral stroking his chin in thought.

"Rather artistic, wouldn't you say?"

Volstagg grunted a response, lush red beard bobbing as he breathed.

Hogun, unsurprisingly, said nothing. His eyes, however, betrayed a lingering interest.

A disgusted breath, and Sif stationed herself between the men and the object of their attention, hands coming to meet her hips.

"Why must men pride themselves on being so disrespectful towards women? Is it an inherited trait, or is it learned?"

The Valiant's gaze shifted to meet hers, a brow arched in surprise. "Sorry?"

Her hand met his arm, pushing him away from the frighteningly exotic window display of feminine undergarments, the others moving quietly away as well, likely having realized too late just what it was they had been so terribly taken in by.

"It would seem," Sif grumbled, "that in all worlds, women are regarded as being less than men." She gave the blond warrior a curt shove, knowing that he would be the most likely to return were he to learn just what a lingerie shop was. "And yet women continually prove to men that they are worth far more respect than that ridiculous thing they carry around in their–"

A startled cry came from amid the crowds streaming past, a child screaming for help as a shot sounded, those around them scattering in fear. What light that had come from the sun was obscured then, the startling echo of cracking cement bursting into the air from above. Heads turned upward, the shadow coming down as but a heap of shattered glass and metal, the heavier of the pieces striking the ground and driving deep ruts into the concrete. Another earth-shattering sound, a deafening boom and the building split just above the warriors, Volstagg sweeping the lot of them out of the way.

Sif landed hard on her backside, scraping arms against the sidewalk as she skidded just off the curb and into the street, cars screeching to a halt as their drivers attempted to divert them away from the accident. Wiping the dirt and flecks of rock away, she got to her feet and darted to the others, giving the Valiant a solid clap on the arm as she helped raise him up.

"Are you whole?"

He looked to her with those wide, dark eyes, visibly shaken as he nodded. The warrior woman offered up a relieved smile, only to have it fade away as the man's expression changed. Slowly, she turned, felt the familiar prick of steel touch the small of her back, an arm draped casually about her throat.

"I ought to have known he would bring you here for aid. Or is my brother so desperate that he sent you out, will not face me himself?"

"Foolishness if I have ever heard it," was her retort, feeling particularly exposed and vulnerable what with her mortal dressings. She should not have deigned to honor Thor's request, to wander about out in the open without familiarity and weaponry just out of reach. "You know as well as I that Thor is not the sort to rely upon others to resolve his imagined slights." Her lip curled. "He is no coward. Not like you."

She could feel him tense behind her, hear the hiss in her ear, the sound of leather and metal scraping together as that serpent's grip tightened about her. From the corner of her eye, Sif spotted them, Fandral with scrapes on his face and a tear in his sweater, Hogun with his vicious leer, and Volstagg looking as uncertain as one could imagine, seemingly caught between offering up his aid and running back to find Thor. But that, War knew, was as good as telling Loki of their nest, for, were the Valiant to seek out aid, he would be followed, even hunted, lead the others unto the threat of death that they were not prepared to fend off.

With her eyes she told him, raised her head slightly so that he might know.

_Do_ not _go back. Do_ not _lead them there._

"He lied, didn't he?" By the Gods, he sounded so damned smug about it, as though he had the very workings of the Nine Realms unfurled and unlocked for all to see. Fool. "Thought up what he could to drive a nail through my–"

"No," Sif murmured, her tone even as she turned. Perhaps, had he some genuine remorse left, trapped below at the bottom of that wicked heart, she could have found the means with which to ache for him in but this regard alone. But he had nothing left that she could see. Nothing to recognize as familiar. Just blind obsession and anger and hate as he sought after their blood. "Thor did not lie." On its own, her hand moved to touch him, curious as to whether he had a pulse anymore, all the while wondering where that lovely, bright-eyed little boy had been buried. Eyes hardened. She could not afford to reminisce. "Your mother _is_ dead, Loki. Murdered... by the very child to whom she gave her heart."

It started slow, the tremor, wracking his frame until a hand grabbed hers, sought to snap her wrist beneath cold fingers. A moment, and the god lapsed, looking every bit as lost and wounded as he had so very long ago, on the verge of tears as they left him behind, said that he was not yet big enough to play their games.

And, by the throne of Odin, she _ached_ for that crying child.


	25. Thieves And Beggars

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 25: **Thieves And Beggars

The recommended tune for this chapter is "Burn It Down" by Linkin Park.

* * *

Nothing, _nothing_, had successfully signified a swift enough means of travel. Not the ache in his chest, nor the pounding of his legs as, without the slightest bit of attention paid to planning and rationality, he had taken off, the inside of his mind screaming that same song that he had been hearing for all these years. A dirge of loss and woe that he knew far too well, the potential scourge of irreparable destruction, all of it purposely brought about by one that, for so long, he had urged himself to deem a priority. And, though it pained the Thunderer to admit, time had forced priorities to change. Loki's actions could no longer be defended by so thin the excuses as Thor had used and abused.

This had gone far and beyond just the pair of them, beyond centuries of made up stories that had been meant to be a source of comfort, a bridge by which to again join the Nine Realms in a perpetual peace. It was not about equality nor possession. It had grown in him, festered and consumed, taken his brother by storm to bring about the downpour of sociopathy that now raged against the planet, sought to annihilate and conquer Midgard.

No remorse, Natasha had said, which, initially, had felt to him as but character assassination. But standing again among the wreckage, the dust and rubble and grime and bodies and blood, Thor could not bring himself to hold to that foolish argument. It did not exist anymore, and it was nothing short of hellfire burning in the cavern of his chest at the acceptance of the truth.

There would be no reasoning with Loki. It would be nothing but chaos, war, death, and there was no stopping it so long as both remained.

The space between them closed quickly, Thor stepping across the tattered asphalt with a few long strides, hands slightly aquiver as his fingers curled into the leather of the other's garments, abruptly oblivious to the still lingering presence of Sif and the Warriors Three as they licked their wounds.

"Why must you drag these people into your madness? This is no game, Loki! There are other ways with which we can resolve our differences."

Those cool, distant eyes looked into Thor's own with mild intrigue, the other's head shaking slightly with a scoff.

"My, we are selfish," Loki crooned. "Still thinking this is all about you when there is so much _more_ to consider."

"What more is there?" The god's nostrils flared, a smile tugging at his brother's lips. "You have no right to this realm, Loki, nor to any other. You only seek to drag them down, stamp out the lives of innocents so as to appease your lust for dominance." His voice cracked, rising. "Does it make you a better man to take all that you please?! These are not the scales of justice, Brother!"

"Justice?" Silvertongue chortled. "Oh, he must be so _proud_ of you, Thor." A light yet demeaning slap to a stubbled cheek, that giddy grin spreading wider. "All grown up just like Daddy always wanted, hm? It would seem as though you've really stepped up, taken on all manner of worthless responsibility."

Thor growled, "That is what a man who would be king does, Loki. He does not only take from the people."

A roll of greying eyes. "Quibbles."

He had tried. Oh, how he had _tried_ to save him. Years of struggle, sleepless nights, tears and lost time that could have been theirs to treasure, two joined halves of a whole rather than separated and damaged pieces. Words had done nothing, actions had done nothing, and it had left Thor in a state of consistent bewilderment, curious as to just what _would_ penetrate the walls of ice and malice that Loki had erected about his being. Nothing, he had learned, was the answer. The Fates, it seemed, had laid out the groundwork from the beginning, intent on pitting them against one another. And only one of them, Thor knew, could prevail.

"What about Mother?" Why was he still trying? What manner of fool was he? "Will you tell me that she, too, means nothing to you?" The desperate kind, still seeking to satisfy both sides the way a child might wish to. A rough shake. "Will you?!"

_"Don't,"_ the word was a slow hiss, his brother's eyes taking on a dark undertone again, _"talk about her."_

A golden brow creased, grip growing tighter. "Why?!" came the demand. "Do you feel insurmountable guilt over what it is you have done? All the heartbreak you caused her?!" Furious, Thor shook him, the heat beneath his skin skyrocketing, muscles contracting tighter and tighter until he thought he might break into pieces. "Does it not haunt you, in the darkness of your lost mind, that _you_ are the one who brought about her end?! That _you killed her?!"_

Arms extended, Loki's catching him by the throat as the Thunderer gave a mighty push, dropped to his knees and shifted his weight downward, cracks breaking out further into the street, the echo ringing. Above their heads the sky darkened and roared, crackled, his temper flaring wildly, almost considering calling upon the element of storms to silence the serpent's tongue, end this chaos at long last.

There crept hesitation into Thor's heart, not for his brother's life alone, but for those of the people of Midgard, this city, his friends. The beasts what ravaged the globe, one could be sure, would answer to no other. And what with them having spread throughout the years, planted the seeds of their forces far and wide, it was certain that, without Loki's word to command them, they would take it upon themselves to fulfill that purpose for which they were destined: Destruction.

No longer would he ask for his brother to return.

Steadily, it shook him, rattled his bones and caused his hair to stand on end. That laugh, one that he had once loved to hear, driving itself through his ears as but a needle. There was no joy held within that sound, nothing to indicate that it had once been spread through the air of far happier and calmer days.

"You are every bit Odin's son," Loki spat. "A fool, expecting that a few harsh words will bow my head in the sincerity of penitence. But beyond that you have no hope. You are left with but one recourse. One that cannot be broken nor exchanged; one that we both knew would come to pass."

Thor stiffened, breaths strained and uneven, a sharp pain sparking through the side of his face as he fell, blood streaming down his cheek.

"Loki..."

_"Enough!"_ Gone was composure, that last flickering lights of self-control dying out in the serpent's eyes. "You want remorse, do you?! _Regret?!_ My only lasting regret is that I let you go! That I let myself be tricked into thinking I could ever love you, when all I've ever held in my heart is a longing for your death! _You_ are the cause of all this! My greatest asset, and my enemy..." That gaze turned skyward, and Thor could feel them, the blazes that spread as his thunder roared, could feel the bite of tempered steel as the blade cut into Loki's palm. "I came to rule this world... And, as king... I sentence you, Thor Odinson, to death..."

**# - # - # - #**

This wasn't comfortable. None of it was. Not after having had a big, blank space opened up in his memory, a pit of blackness and uncertainty that, for all his efforts, remained empty. These weeks of being away, not knowing who he was or even if he was, not knowing what had happened, were eating at him, picking at little bits of his innards and whiling them away. It was an ache in his chest, his head, his gut, and nothing a one of them said would cure it. Not even Natasha.

Clint didn't like the way she looked at him, her eyes lingering, trying to break past the walls he'd erected around himself to hide uncertainty. But they were crumbling, her hammer breaking them down, drawing nervous reactions from him with even a comforting touch. And touch, he found, was the worst of it, for he could no longer find it in himself to recognize the feel of her skin upon his as warmth.

"You're doing it again."

Her tone made him flinch, that sound of knowing in her voice as he scoffed.

"I'm not doing anything." Too much. Too defensive.

"Don't insult me by lying, Clint."

Lying. Lies. Loki. _Lies._ He'd done something, that egotistical bastard. Clint just didn't know what.

"Love is for children," he shot back, turning to look her in the eye, allowing himself to detest that lingering spark.

Yes, he knew all about that. He'd heard it himself some time ago, seen the footage, watched her dig her heels in and manipulate him, lie to the liar, beat him at his own damn game. Whatever this was, he had a part of it, and Clint didn't want her to walk into war and falter because of him; because something was wrong with him; because they had _feelings_ for one another.

"We are children, Barton." She hadn't called him that in some time. "Us. Humanity. Think about it. Thousands of years worth of history, and we're still seen by other worlds as infants. And they're right." Her eyes burned into his. "We are children. That's why we can still love."

A sigh escaped him, tensing as she crossed the room, gave him a light shove and sat down beside the archer. Her hand touched his shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze.

"Maybe," he murmured, biting back a smile. "Maybe we are."

_"Holy shit on a sandwich!"_

Natasha growled, both their heads turning as Tony barged into the room without even bothering to knock, eyes wide and wild, his tone even louder and more irritating than it had been as he shouted something about getting their asses out into the living room.

Clint pulled away from her then, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he followed the screaming idiot and joined the others.

The television was blaring long and loud, Jane looking increasingly worried at the sight, the beasts ravaging the city from afar, while Maria swore under her breath and Darcy stared at the floor, tapping the tips of her index fingers together.

"This isn't cute anymore," Bruce remarked with a groan. Not that it ever had been. "When is Loki going to figure out that these temper tantrums aren't–"

Clint snorted, visibly drawing every eye in the room to him. The archer shook his head and marched back down the hall, reaching back behind the door of the bedroom to withdraw his bow, sling the quiver over his shoulder.

"Clint!" He didn't stop, wouldn't let a one of them stop him. Something was wrong. Loki had screwed him over again, somehow. He knew it. "Dammit, Clint!"

He pulled out of her grasp, looked at her and then to the rest of them. They didn't understand. They couldn't. They hadn't had someone reach inside, take their minds and play, force them to become something else. Something dark and unrecognizable. Something that should have only existed in nightmares. Monsters.

"I am _not_," he told Natasha, voice rising, "going to sit here on my ass while he gets the better of all of us again! If the rest of you want to stay, fine! But do _not_ expect me to wait around for someone to find the answers for me."

**# - # - # - #**

It rushed into his eye, the blood, hand coming up every few seconds or so to wipe it away, clear his vision, discern just where the next blow would be coming from. It was leaving a trail, not only upon the ground, but in his golden hair, dribbling through the cracks of his armor to snake its way across untouched skin. The hammer firm in his grasp, Thor turned, knocked off the point of yet another lance, the flurry of knives quickly knocked away as Mjolnir spun.

Had he ever ached so badly? Had he ever wanted anything so dearly as he wanted this? To beat Loki down and drag him home? It was frightening to the god, to think that he would even settle for killing his brother, take him back to Asgard without breath.

"I do not want this, Brother!"

His voice trembled, rain beginning to pour in the distance, the sound offering up no comfort as it was drowned out by the strike of lightning and roar of furious thunder. Thor hedged, allowed himself to lose sight of the other for a moment, felt a hand fist hard in his hair.

"Well, that's too bad, isn't it? Because _I do._"

Grinding his boot into the ground, Thor half-turned, one foot taking Loki's out from beneath him, his elbow swinging back to bash itself into the other's chest. As the Trickster fell, the prince brought the hammer's head down upon the earth, mere inches from Loki's face, an ear-shattering boom splicing the air.

Those eyes peered up at him in disbelief, a vain attempt at pleading for mercy that the both of them knew he didn't want. Thor wouldn't kill him, they said. He hadn't the nerve. He was too damn _soft_.

"Do not tempt me, Loki," Thor growled, shoving a hand hard against his chest. "I will do as is expected of me, and protect and restore this realm to the peace she deserves. And if I must take your life..." A sigh. "I will."

"For yourself," Silvertongue choked, "or for _Odin?_"

A deep frown, blue eyes falling shut. "For these people."

It stung, knocked Thor slightly off balance, the feel of Loki's hand striking him across the face yet again. His knees buckled, a fierce pain shooting through one of his legs. He could feel bone crack, perhaps break entirely, the sole of his brother's boot shoving him down, pinning Thor to the ground, a blade set at his throat.

"So damned righteous," Loki drawled, and turned his head to spit. "You owe them _nothing!_ You don't owe them your life or your body or _anything_ else!" Why did he sound so furious? Why did it anger him so that Thor sought to dedicate himself to a people who could not defend their realm? "But you do have a debt to pay, Thor. Your blood, your _life_, for all the _suffering_ I have–"

Fear shot through him, wracked his core as she hovered, drew Loki's head back, the point of a spear dragging across the skin of his cheek.

_"Liar,"_ Sif hissed, a light shake of her head causing dark hair to come undone, spill down over her shoulder. "Don't you _dare_ blame him for that which you have brought upon yourself."

She would do it, this both of them knew. She'd wear the blood of Asgard's traitor, its devil, on her sleeve with pride, an accomplishment for herself and an agonizing reminder for Thor.

"Sif, no!"

His hand shot forward, eyes wide and focused, determined to keep her hands clean and her life intact. A near silent sound, like two hands sliding quickly together, passed by the Thunderer's ear, Sif leaping back as Loki groaned, tumbling forward with one of the archer's arrows having pierced his shoulder.

"Next one goes through your skull," Clint sneered, bumping Thor with a knee. "There's about twelve feet between you and me right now, Loki. Do the math."


	26. Too Many Unanswered Prayers

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 26: **Too Many Unanswered Prayers

**A/N: **I thought this would be a bit longer, but experience shows that when the well runs dry for a chapter or I have afterthoughts, it's best to wait and to save them for future updates.

Now, odds are that I won't update again before Sunday, since I'm running off to a con with some friends, and I have a dialect performance that I need to put on with classmates for my Theatre professor to earn midterm credit tomorrow evening. I'll be around though, since we have internet at the hotel, but with everything going on, the most that will happen in regards to writing is drafting in my little black book. Although, there is a chance that I can put up another short piece for Sifki, TaserTricks, or Lokane if I end up in my room with nothing to do. Not sure how many of you have peeked at those, but if you do, you might get another one. No promises, though.

Have a safe weekend, folks!

The recommended tune for this chapter is "I Hope You Suffer" by AFI.

* * *

"What should we do with him? We sure as hell can't keep him in one place for too long. They'll come looking for him."

The place smelled wretched, like musk and rainwater and filth that hadn't ever had chance to see the light of day or anything else. His bones ached with every breath, the utter look of dismay and misery upon Thor's stupid face the only lingering source of comfort amid the dimly lit passage. Construction lighting and equipment, a sure sign that, as he'd been hunting them, their little group had been busy at work, trying to keep themselves safe. It would do little good, Loki thought, willing himself not to smile. He'd tear this blasted city to the ground soon enough, crack open the earth and find them all hiding inside.

The sound of hurried steps came from amid their quiet murmurings, heavy breaths that could have only belonged to a child. The boy rushed past him with a whimper, having appeared from out of the tunnel's darkness, promptly clinging to Stark's leg. A precious little thing, blue eyes wide with terror that only served to thrill as the god was spared that glance. He loved to frighten them, see them look to the skies in the hope that their Avengers would come to save them, carry them away. Gone were those days where children cried out for heroes, said their prayers of thanks to their false god by their bedsides each night. No more pleasant dreams for his city, his world. Only nightmares.

"You have the same look, Thor," Loki chortled, eyeing the child, probably Stark's son, shifting slightly against the restraints. He'd had his fill of chains for one lifetime. "Desperation. Fear. _I love it._"

A throbbing in his side, beefy shoulder slamming hard against his chest. So easy it was to make Thor lose control. He certainly played the role of Odin's choice son well enough, but he had still not learned to hold that temper of his in check. It made him fun to play, to watch him run wild and destroy, see the growing sparks of anguish in those bright eyes as the realization of his destruction dawned upon him. It was well worth it to tear Thor down this way, even at the cost of another ache like this one.

That gaze threatened him, warning, demanding that he dare not even think of harming the boy.

"Your dedication is touching, Thor. Truly. But it will gain you nothing." Eyes widened, that mocking smirk creeping in. "I rule this world. I control everything. I know all that goes on, have eyes and ears in every wall, though you may wish to pretend that I cannot see nor hear you."

"Loki..."

"I _played_ you!" His eyes moved from one face to the next, feeding off the myriad of emotion that they allowed to radiate throughout the space. "All of you. Let you think, for years, that you were safe in your little underground, that you were untouchable so long as you remained out of sight. Thought you could hide from me, run through your secret little plans and mazes and arrive one day to take the serpent's head and mount it on a pike." There was laughter building behind those words. "How else would I have killed them, your friends? Did you think it by chance that they were caught, that it was by way of your own foolishness and lack of planning that they suffered? _No._"

Amusement was lost for but a moment, that throbbing ache seeping into his bones again, flesh screaming from the harsh bite of the cuffs. Those strong hands held him in place against the wall, one arm laid across his chest while the other held fast to the chain, sent spiraling shudders down his spine from the pain.

Thor still needed another push, had to be made to do something that he would so deeply regret. Something that would leave him tattered and useless. Vulnerable. Unable to lead Asgard's armies against him.

"Perhaps," Loki began, "I will permit you all to live a bit longer than initially intended." Their expressions changed, that of genuine shock overcoming anger and disdain. Curiosity, and that which he would quickly drown out. Hope. "You can watch," he said casually, "as your planet crumbles. See the fires of Hel consume the landscape, suck life from your people. Oh, but more importantly, you can watch each other suffer." A nasty grin. Loki would not curtail his amusement, hide what he had in store for them any longer. They would know, and they would live each day in constant fear. "Maybe..." His eyes fell on the Iron Man. "I'll start with those pretty little children of yours."

Were he before the throne of Odin issuing such threats, he'd have laughed the whole way through, shown the Allfather the severity of his error, the repercussions of allowing him to live. The death of his great dream, the wish to see peace negotiated and pathways between nations rebuilt in strength, trust. _Love._

The boy was drawn into the man's arms. "You fucking–!"

"We are all acutely aware that I know a thing or two about monsters, Mr. Stark. But perhaps we should turn our attention to the white elephant in the room."

Oh, the way they glanced at one another, suspicion brewing, was enthralling. They were beginning to doubt, assume that the others were wearing masks, their poker faces, hiding guns under the table waiting for the arrival of the endgame. As intended, someone, his words had told them, was not quite who they seemed. And how delightful it would be for them to determine who.

A grunt, the echo of sharp heels and a harsh tone that he knew far too well running through the air, Natasha appearing with a writhing, almost swearing, man in a suit that, given how she'd smacked him around, looked as though it might begin to flake off at any given moment. Her eyes were hard as they fell upon him, and Loki knew that she had figured him out. This part of him, at least. The spider knew that he'd set the bait, that they'd fallen for it far too easily, and he could see very clearly how deeply it enraged her to know that he had managed to pull the wool over their eyes yet again. And she was like to beat him for it.

"A little walk through the park," the woman snapped, casting her captive towards the concrete floor, "and I find our dear _friend _having a chat with those bastard Chitauri spies."

Hirsch hit hard on his knees, the sound even causing Loki, his own pains momentarily forgotten, to flinch. A cut in his cheek, the agent looked the Avengers over, so desperately seeking a friend amid the sea of distrustful glares. But, of course, he would not be like to find one.

"You don't understand," he panted, so purposefully avoiding Loki's gaze. "I had no choice, I had to..."

"You _had_ to betray us?!" the archer growled, stepping towards the other man. He lifted the agent off the ground, shook him about, teeth still clenched. "Or what, he was gonna kill you?! That's bullshit! We're all on the line here, Hirsch! We're all fighting just to stay alive, and you go and turn into a goddamn sell-out?!"

"Cowards," Loki sighed, "always take the easy way out."

Thor frowned, a bit of curiosity lingering his blue eyes. "Surely you do not speak of yourself, Brother." There was doubt in those words, the underlying implication that Loki himself was a coward. "The man I knew is no –"

"Were I a coward, Thor, would I have chosen this path? Would I have chosen to fight you, to take on the mightiest of the Nine Realms, snatch it out from beneath that fool Odin's feet?" Loki raised dark brows. "Does that sound the least bit easy to you?" A quiet laugh. "Surely, you don't know the meaning of cowardice, though, for all this time, you have done little more than embody it yourself."

A bow of that great golden head, though not at all in the way he would have liked. If only he could bring the God of Thunder to his knees in death, his last sight that of his once-brother towering above, god and king of the Nine Realms, wielder of the branches of the Tree and all her gifts. Loki would rule them, he had decided. Not just Asgard or Midgard, but the remainder of the cosmos as well. Born to be king, as Odin had once told him, perhaps the only truth that had ever slipped past the old man's lying lips. He would fulfill that ambition, that prophecy set about so very long ago by the weathered hands of Fate and Time. They had written it upon that parchment in the stars, solidified it in blood and ink and darkness, and it would be his. All of it. Everything.

Among themselves, they quarreled, what to do with the traitor, the liar, the thief who had managed to worm his way into their weakening collective, out them from the inside, betray them to the forces of Chaos. So surely they would come, the Chitauri, ravage the site until it was naught but dust and debris, hold to their scent, the clues, snuff them out of hiding once they dove underground again. Far swifter and frenzied would their search be were Midgard's fallen heroes to keep him in tow as well.

"You can't!" The Trickster winced at the blow, the Lady Sif's hand having risen against Thor, his expression that of genuine surprise as she had struck him. "You cannot take him back to Asgard, Thor! It is what he wants! We must kill him!"

She was right, of course, but it was all a part of the plan now. This would only be but wasted time were Loki to slip away, give War what it was she desired, the moment's satisfaction of keeping him far and away from Odin's throne.

No. He would much rather put up with Thor and his ridiculous preaching than to allow an opportunity of this magnitude to slip by.

"We will go," Thor told her curtly, "and the rest of you will remain."

"Oh, they won't be safe here," Loki jabbed. "The dear agent has already ratted them out."

"And you will not leave Asgard until peaceful negotiations have been reached, Loki!"

A frown as the prince turned away, words quiet and fading out as the serpent released a sigh. Another cage, Silvertongue thought. Asgard. But this time, escape would be far more difficult.

But they would suffer, Silvertongue thought. That much he could promise them; promise himself. They _would_ suffer. He would stake his life on that.


	27. The Price Of Life

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Avengers_, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 27: **The Price Of Life

**A/N: **The recommended tune for this chapter is "The Embrace" by AFI.

* * *

"You will hold your tongue."

There was force behind those words, though not at all the sort he wished he could have mustered, and the other knew it, that amused smirk streaking across his face. It was certain that Thor would not be taken seriously, for he was neither commander nor jailer, though it was by his hand, his word, that they had again arrived in Asgard. A palm against his brother's shoulder offered a firm push, Loki moving to meet the gesture with an eager skip in his step. He was eating this up, seeking the audience with the Allfather that he had avoided for so long. And they both knew why.

Within the dome of Heimdall's keep it stood, placed upon a pedestal, there was but a fragment of that familiar blue glow casting dancing shadows and light in a waltz as it flickered, the rotations of the sphere surrounding them dying down as the Gatekeeper again took his blade in hand, his shining golden eyes watching the Trickster with a deep suspicion.

But the brothers knew better than he, Thor thought with a quiet sigh. The Tesseract was the key, indeed, but it would remain in Asgard for but one purpose. Loki sought to conquer the realm, strike Odin down in cold blood, name his actions as those of vengeance, of reparation for his suffering. But Thor knew. His brother would seize the kingdom if he could, rule in but malice and keep the cube close by, protected by the armies of the Chitauri which, once he possessed the throne, would annihilate the warriors of the Aesir, ensure that there were none to stand against him.

"Keep telling yourself that, Thor," the other quipped, and he cast the Thunderer a sparing glance. "Keep telling yourself that the God and King of the Nine will hold his tongue before the throne of the damned."

It jolted, the prince's heart, that anguish and anger spiraling within, building up and rising into the storm that was soon to loom far overhead. A distant crack of lightning, the streak appearing across the sky as the pair strode steadily across the shine of the bridge, Loki's eyes moving upwards with a quiet, yet satisfied, sound.

"I do love it when you get angry, Brother."

That word. _Brother._ How long had it been since he'd heard it roll off that silver tongue, since he'd felt the lingering familiarity that came only when the other _meant it?_

A blank stare was what Thor offered in return, uncertain as to whether or not the sincerity behind those words were ersatz or not. He hoped so. Oh, how he hoped that Loki was only playing him now.

"Do you now?"

"Of course. It shows to me the man you truly are. The man you've worked so hard to bury beneath worthless sentiment."

No, he told himself. It was all real. He could see it. Silvertongue had no one left to disappoint now that their mother was gone. He could act as he saw fit, and without the slightest chance of remorse. He would no longer curb his chaotic enthusiasm so as to spare her the pain of a fallen son.

The only thing tying him down, they both knew, was gone.

**# - # - # - #**

"That's enough."

He couldn't take it anymore, the screaming, the shouting, the blame. He couldn't stand idly by and watch a man in a position similar to his own as he was picked apart, even slaughtered by those whom he had sought to aid. James could see it in the agent's eyes, the regret. He'd been caught early on, threatened, dragged into the chaos that was Loki's rule, forced to play this part out of fear. He knew what that felt like, to be caught between a rock and a hard place and pushed into something that he did not want to have any part of.

They watched him, all of them, eyes flitting back and forth between the officer himself and the would-be traitor. James returned the look, noting the way Tony purposely avoided it, instead taking to rocking his son and running a hand through his mess of dark hair.

_I know,_ the unspoken language said.

The colonel straightened, a faint frown beginning to built upon his brow.

"If you're going to crucify Hirsch, you'd best hang me up there beside him." No holding back. No regret. Just truth. A truth that they all needed to hear before they - or, more specifically, Natasha - began drawing blood. "You all know that I did very much the same thing; that I was sucked into a bargain that held only two evils. But I chose the lesser of two, rejected it in the end."

_"Let me make this perfectly clear for you: Either accept my most gracious offer and eliminate them, or push me to dirty my hands myself. And believe me, Colonel. Should I have to step in, I will not be quite so kind as this. Is that what you want? To watch your friends die by my hand? See Stark's precious little children cry as their father suffers?"_

That threat, that promise, still shook him to the core, made his insides ache and his bones shudder to think that, were he to have refused, they would not be standing here. They would not be alive at this very moment, waiting for his words, for his defense of the man that they sought to execute for crimes that were no different than his own. That had been made absolutely clear with the most recent turn of events, with Loki's bragging that he'd known where they had been hidden for some time now. He could have killed them, should have killed them, himself. But he'd played them against one another, sought to stir up chaos and mistrust among them.

And, with the way things were looking to James, it was beginning to work.

"He's trying to tear us apart," he continued. They had to know; to understand. "We can't go about pointing fingers and dwelling on one another's faults. There is far too much at stake."

Not another word spoken, the colonel turned, watched Hirsch as he played idly with the face of his watch.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," the agent murmured. "I thought I was..."

"No one was killed," Maria interjected. A lie, at least to a degree, and they all knew it. People had died, but not by way of the agent's doing. He was in no way responsible for the deaths that they had witnessed, and there was little reason for the lot of them to try and pretend so. Keeping secrets, after all, was not quite the same as stealing lives. "We didn't lose anyone. It isn't..."

This, the war they fought, the confusion they suffered, it was all a part of the role they'd chosen to play. The lot of the once-called heroes, the defenders. Their lives. And, because they had chosen this, chosen to be hated now by the people who had once loved them, cheered them on and screamed their names, they were paying the price. But a price that, they all agreed, was well worth it.

Otherwise, they would not have dared to go on like this.

From the corner of his eye, James saw her move, the scowling assassin who had neglected to add her voice so as to mask her fury. On her knees, she was beside the archer, the man having placed a hand against his eyes.

"All right there?"

A curt nod, the man not bothering to look up. "Yeah. Just a headache..."


End file.
